


Leave Out All The Rest

by itsAsecrett



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Assassination Attempt(s), Background Relationships, Death, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, How Do I Tag, Murder, Presumed Dead, Slight Canon Divergence, Supernatural Elements, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Wargs, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-03-03 19:42:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13348173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsAsecrett/pseuds/itsAsecrett
Summary: “And what would you give child, to do it all again? To erase the infinite, and revive the slain? To have a chance to wipe away all your love one's strife and pain?”“Anything” she promised.The old witch smiled wickedly, red eyes gleaming. “Then it's time for a new reign.”Arya opened her mouth to ask what she meant, but it was too late.In other words; Arya Stark goes back in time in an attempt to change the past.





	1. World Spins Madly On

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [and we play all the same old games](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6288442) by [Sapphire_blue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphire_blue/pseuds/Sapphire_blue). 



“ _And what would you give child, to do it all again? To erase the infinite, and revive the slain? To have a chance to wipe away all your love one's strife and pain?_ ”

“ _Anything._ ” _she promised._

_The old witch smiled wickedly, red eyes gleaming. “Then it's time for a new reign.”_

_Arya opened her mouth to ask what she meant, but it was too late._

 

She gasped, springing up from her sheets, eyes wide and a thin layer of sweat kissing her skin. She glanced around wildly, taking in the hauntingly familiar sight of her childhood chambers, the cold dawn air breaking into her room. _It...it worked._ Pulling off the covers and stepping onto the cold stone floor felt like a dream _,_ one that left her dizzy and slightly nauseous. _This is impossible._

Having the sense to throw a gown over her small clothes and tying a cloak around her neck, she padded silently to her door. One shaking hand extended above the door knob. Her stomach was knots of kraken's tentacles twisting and pulling her apart inside. _This is completely insane._ She clenched her hand into a fist and brought it back to her chest, just staring at the door. A voice from another life whispered in her ear, giving her courage,  _F_ _ear cuts deeper than swords._ Exhaling she opened the door, pulling the heavy oak ajar. _I'm weak, so bloody weak,_ she realized. She'd only the strength of a skinny nine year old girl, years of training lost on her body, yet not her mind.

The hallway was empty, it was early enough that most everyone was still in bed, and considering the peace that had held Winterfell for the past decade, there were no guards posted. _We should have guards...you can never be too careful._ Arya walked freely through the castle, lost in a trance as she took in the details she'd forgotten. The flower design of her mothers plates in the kitchen, the way the roof of the armory was slightly croked, the sharp fangs of the gargoyles and their wrinkled stone noses, and the silver rings around the torches lining the garnet halls.

She paused when she heard the steps, heart falling to her ankles. Someone was approaching from behind the corner, boots by her guess, shuffling and whispering lazily across the stone. _Fear cuts deeper than swords._ Mustering all the courage she could manage she stepped out behind the wall and froze in place when she saw him. _Jon._ Dark eyes gave her a curious look when they spotted her, a black cloak lined with white fur wrapped around him, and grey breeches and brown boots completed his look.

“Jon...” she breathed, heart hammering in her tiny chest.

“Little sister, what are doing up so early?” he smiled and it was the nicest thing she'd seen in more than half a decade.

All sense of keeping up the pretense of nine year old Arya Stark was lost on her then, and tears were stinging her eyes and making it hard to see. She felt stupid for letting herself cry, but how could she not? When he smiled like he knew her, and called her little sister? As if she were still that child full of mischief and hopes of adventure. As if she hadn't spent half her life on the run and missing him every step of the way. Like an arrow she shot forward and closed the distance between them, crashing into his chest and nearly knocking him over.

“Wha-” he was cut off by a sob, a high pitched cry of a child. Her hands wrapped around him and her little fists tangled in his cloak as tightly as they possibly could be. “Arya what's wrong?” _Nothing, nothing at all._

It took a few moments for her sense to come back to her and she pulled away to see concern etched all over her sweet brother's face. “Sorry, I just...” _Missed you so fucking much._

“What happened, are you alright?” he asked urgently.

A breath of laughter escaped her lips and Jon looked at her like she was mad, “Yeah, everything's fine...I just ah, had a nightmare is all.”

Arya grinned even more as she watched him try to bite back his own baffled smile, “Then why are you laughing?” he asked exasperated.

She shook her head, how could she explain her tears had been of joy and not fear? Instead she just embraced him once more. “I just missed you, okay?” she muttered.

“I saw you yesterday.” he argued.

“Well it feels like another lifetime.”

“That's it, you've lost your mind Little Sister. I'm taking you to maester Luwin.” They both laughed and Arya felt as light as a feather for the first time in years. 

Pulling away again she wiped the tears from her cheeks, “You'll have to drag me there then.” she teased.

“I'd hardly call that a challenge” he shot back with a grin, and it was almost too much again. His innocent smile and glowing grey eyes. “Are you sure you're alright?”

Sniffling she nodded and managed a smile, taking a deep breath and letting her impossible reality set in. “Never better Jon, trust me.” she could see the uncertainty in his eyes still, but there was no time to question her, not when they both turned to see their father walking toward them.

Arya froze once more, her heart breaking all over again. The sounds of people yelling and Sansa screaming crashed over her, Ice gleaming and posed above her father kneeling below the Sept. She blinked away the memories, the fate she'd never let come to pass. “Something wrong?” he asked as he approached, brown cloak sweeping the floor behind him. Kind grey eyes boring into hers.

Arya shook her head and pawed at more salty tears from her eyes, cursing herself to rule her emotions. But she'd accepted a long time ago she'd never hear her fathers voice ever again. “No” she lied.

Jon gave her an odd look and glanced back at father, “She says she had a nightmare, but I think she's losing it.” he gave her grin and she granted him a shove in the arm.

“Shut up.”

Father looked more concerned than either of them then, “Do you wish to speak about it?” he asked and Arya instantly shook her head, maybe a little too quickly.

“I'm fine, truly.” she swore with a practiced smile.

He frowned, “If you say so, I'll see you two at breakfast. I need to go speak with Hullen.” _Hullen._ Arya could see the man then, Harwin's father, slouched over with half a dozen stab wounds in his belly, telling her to find her father as blood trickled down his lips. Arya watched as her father walked away from her, back down the hallway she'd come from. She stared, memorizing the shape of his shoulders and the sound of his steps on the stone. It wasn't until she noticed Jon glancing at her with a calculating look did she finally tare her eyes away.

 

When breakfast finally rolled around Arya had come to the conclusion that Jon had been right, she was losing her mind. Or she was on the verge of it anyway. It was all she could do to speak when spoken to, but other than that Arya sat in silence and just watched in awe at the average family breakfast. Arya placed herself at the end of the table and Jon sat beside her with Bran next to him, and her mother beside Bran with little Rickon on her lap. Across from them sat father, Robb, Sansa, and Theon.

Sansa was talking to their mother about a new song she'd learned and Robb was boasting of how he was going to beat Theon in the training yard later that afternoon. Jon was teasing Bran about something and little Rickon was babbling incoherently about his eggs. Arya sat still as stone, one fist resting over her mouth as she tried to nail in the idea that this was not a dream, that she was home, that her family was not dead. She eyed Theon a moment, feeling her gut burn with hatred just at his stupid face, _he hasn't done anything though._

Arya frowned and looked down at her untouched plate, _and what of what I've done?_ The world she was in now knew her as an innocent girl who'd never gone a day without a meal, never been hunted through the woods, had no concept of torture or rape. A little girl no one had ever raised a hand to, a girl who'd never even seen a man die, let alone been the cause of it. _No one at this table has any idea who I really am._ It was not like she wanted them to know, yet the thought was just too depressing to ponder on. Glancing up at her family's easy smiles she noticed grey eyes and a concerned frown from the head of the table. Faking a smile she avoided her father's stare and started picking at her food.

 

Later that day she found herself stitching a damn scarf of all things. Admittedly her work had to be better than it was the day before, yet even with sixteen years under her belt, her stitches still paled in comparison next to Sansa's. In her old life it would have been enough to frustrate her to tears with one rude comment from Septa Mordane, now it was simply comforting. Arya's hands worked relentlessly as her mind raced with all her new problems, how the hell was she supposed to change anything from Winterfell?

She supposed she could wait for the King's visit and just kill Joffery then, but that would lead to madness. Cersei was insistent on killing Lady over a bite on her son's arm, a bite Lady had nothing to do with, what would she do if her son died in Winterfell? and it wasn't like she could go and kill every bloody Lannister...no, she'd have to think to before that. She'd have to keep her parents and older brother from ever going South, keep that fat king from ever looking North. Arya hummed absentmindedly as she brooded over what she could do to keep her entire family from dying, to keep the Seven Kingdoms from falling apart before winter finally came. For if they weren't united when the Wall came down, Westereos would become a wasteland of corpses.

“Septa Mordane?” Arya called to the older women.

“Yes Lady Arya”

“Now that I'm finished my work, may I be excused please?” she held up her black wool scarf for the Septa to examine. The older women walked over and held the soft wool in her hands, smiling a little as she handed it back to Arya. Sansa was too much of a Lady to call Arya out on her new found skills but she could read the suspicion behind those Tully blue eyes.

“That looks much better Arya, yes you can go, but only if you promise not to be late tomorrow.” The Septa gave her a stern look and Arya grinned.

“I promise.” she vowed, wrapping her scarf around her neck and picking up her cloak.

 

Snugly warm in her new scarf and cloak Arya wandered over to the training yard, black boots leaving tiny shoe prints in the snow. She still wasn't used to this, all morning and afternoon she'd felt a stranger in her own body; just a passenger that had taken harbor in a child. No one noticed her as she watched from a corner as Robb and Jon danced with blunt edged swords. There was something so surreal about it all, the snow landing softly in her hair, the sounds of her brother's swords clashing against each other, even Theon's stupid and obnoxious shouts brought her an odd sense serenity.

Sighing she sneaked passed them all, quiet as a shadow and into the armory. She found herself stopped by the daggers, picking up a few to test the balance. Finding one she liked she grinned, wrapping her hand around the cold steal hilt. No matter the time she found herself in, there was nothing like the feel of naked steel in her hand. Finding a thin sheath she tucked the dagger under her cloak, turning her attention to the long swords.

Arya had not felt less herself than when she picked up the hilt and  instantly the sword's edge fell to the dirt floor. “Fucking hell.” she muttered.

A hoot of laughter caught her attention and she looked up to see Theon “And who taught you that?” he teased.

Arya didn't miss a beat, “You probably.”

“Hey, I know better than to curse in front of a Lady.” He frowned as she lifted the sword again, she had to use two hands or she couldn't even get it off the ground. “and you should know better than to be in here, your Lady mother would ground you for half a fortnight if she caught you.”

It was most likely true, but Arya didn't wish to hear any of it from Theon Fucking Turn-cloak. “A good thing you're not my mother.” she retorted.

Theon just shook his head and took the sword from her as if she were a mere child (she was still not accepting that she was) “What's your problem?” he growled, placing the sword where she pulled it off the wall.

“What's yours?” she hissed, “Why don't you go back to yelling at Robb and Jon and mind your own business?”

“I think you've been spending too much time with Sansa and Jeyne, they're rubbing off on you.” he accused.

“I don't need commentary from my fathers hostage” she shot back, pent up anger from another life boiling over. Theon opened his mouth to reply but stopped, seeming to think better of it as his eyes burned with cold anger.

“What's going on guys?” Robb asked cheerfully as he strolled into the armory, covered in dark padding and skin shinning with sweat, Jon coming in right behind him.

“The hell if I know.” Theon growled and pushed passed Jon, getting as far away from her as he could. _I shouldn't of said that._

Robb looked the way Theon had left and back at Arya, “What did we miss?”

“Nothing.” she lied, making her way passed them she left and tried to ignore their worried eyes. Arya didn't know how to act, she'd spent years pretending to be other people, yet she had no idea how to pretend to be herself. She could hardly remember who that was anymore, the person her family had known only yesterday.

“ _Hey_ ” Jon had caught up to her and was pulling her back by the arm. “What's going on with you two?”

“I told you, it was nothing.” she kept her expression as passive as she could.

Jon let go of her arm, “That didn't look like nothing.”

Arya sighed, what would her nine year old self tell him? _The truth._ The answer came instantly, followed by a hot wave of guilt. “He just mentioned something about me getting in trouble for being in there and I...I was a bitch.” she confessed.

Jon's eyes widened at her curse and she couldn't help but smirk at his shock. “You were... _Arya._ ”

She couldn't help a laugh despite everything, “I take it you know the meaning of the word?” she teased.

“Yes I know the meaning, but since when do you use it?”

Arya shrugged, “It's just the most fitting word...considering what I said.” she grimaced slightly at the memory. _A wonder he turned his cloak if I'm not the first to make a comment like that._ “Do you like my scarf?” she said randomly, in hopes to not only change the subject but to speak of something relating to normal.

“What?”

She unraveled it and handed it over, “Made it myself, Septa even let me leave early today.”

Jon eyed her suspiciously over her change in subject before giving her scarf a second glance, “It's...really good.”

“Try not to sound so surprised” she muttered.

“I thought you hated stitching, and last I checked...you weren't very good, no offense.”

“There are worse things” she decided, “and might be I've just been pretending to be terrible in hopes mother would relent in making a Lady of me.” Jon didn't smile as she hoped he would. “That was a jape.”

“Could of fooled me.” he managed handing her scarf back.

“Keep it.” she told him, his frown cutting a hole in her chest. No matter how she tried, she'd no idea who she was anymore, let alone who she'd been when she was nine. Jon Snow knew her too well. She could see it now on his face, every word she said wasn't right and every phrase somehow off. Obviously he had no inkling to what was _really_ happening, yet the guilt was tearing her apart. “I'll see you later” she mumbled and turned around before he could tell her to stay.

After her conversation with Jon it occurred to her silence was probably her best bet. At least that way she wouldn't blurt out something stupid, or something she shouldn't know. If anyone said anything she need only say she was tired, it wasn't as if anyone would figure out what was going on themselves. Arya retreated to her chambers, hanging her cloak and lying flat on her bed with the fate of the world on her shoulders. Once again the possibilities of what she could do to change the future began playing in head like an song with a thousand endings, how could she find a bridge to the coda she wanted? What exactly was the ending she was even striving for?

Sitting up she noticed the clothes unraveled on the floor, her blankets and sheets half falling off the bed, and the general mess that was her room. Arya got up and folded the clothes and packed them away, made her bed to her mother's version of perfect, dusted the shelves, and swept the floor. It was while she completed these mundane tasks that were always expected of her at the House of Black and White; that she finally came up with the beginnings of a sensible plan. Throwing her cloak on once more she made her way through the halls but halted when Bran called her name, “Arya, come on dinner's almost ready.” he told her. She glanced the direction she was heading but sighed in defeat and turned and followed her younger brother to the Great Hall.


	2. Just A Little Girl

It was not often her father held feasts for all the lords and surrounding people of Winter Town, might be it happened around once a month. If Arya was nine as she assumed she was, that gave her a month or maybe two before the news of Jon Arryn's death arrived. One or two moons turns before the Fat King and his bastard son turned their reins North. She needed to come up with a real plan.

Arya sat up on the dais with the rest of her family, except for Jon Snow. The injustice of it burned in her skin like fire. How had she been so blind when she was younger? She'd known Jon had hated being a bastard, that he'd been treated unfairly. But when she'd seen the glare her mother had sent him before the feast had started...it had taken everything to hold her tongue. She studied him now, drinking more than a few cups of wine at the back of the hall. The brother she loved more than life itself, who she wasn't even able to sit with, the brother that had died trying to save her in another life; excluded from their family because of some stupid title. 

Her eyes scanned her plate next, fresh pork, mashed potatoes, steamed carrots and beans, and soft bread served with butter. When was the last time she'd eaten like this? She glared at her meal, the only time she'd eaten this well in the past five years was when she'd been sent to assassinate some wealthy target, and had to suffer through dinner with them first. She closed her eyes and held back a sigh.  _ Just eat your food and act bloody natural.  _ All she needed to do was endure this dinner and then she could investigate the idea she'd come up with while cleaning, the idea that _ might _ give her a plan.

Once again she only really spoke when spoken to, and simply listened to others conversations. Arya sat at the end with her younger brothers beside her, mother, Robb, Sansa across from them. Father sat across from their mother and she listened as he spoke of bringing more crops up from the South this season. Apparently the maester's were calling for a long winter.  _ You've no idea,  _ she thought bitterly as she ate a mouthful of potatoes, but froze halfway through; spoon sticking out her mouth. 

_ That's not possible.  _ Arya squinted her eyes as she stared at the back of the hall, past all the lords and ladies, all the knights and wealthier members of society. The man she was staring at eyed her back, clearly noticing her shocked expression and half eaten mouthful. Pulling the spoon back to the table she blinked and slowly swallowed her food, glanced down.  _ He can't be here... _ glanced up. The man with the long brown hair continued his conversation with the women beside him but his eyes kept darting back to her.  _ Mance Rayder, King Beyond the Wall. What the hell was he doing here?  _

The rest of the dinner went by agonizingly slow. Arya's mind was racing with questions, but how could she even ask them without raising suspicions? When the time came where most her family were done eating she excused herself to go to the privy, making sure no one was watching her, she turned abruptly and got lost in the crowd. Glancing a few times up at her family to be sure no one had seen, she scurried to the back of the hall, finding the Wildling King caught up in a pretty blond. At least pretending to be, it was clear to her he had no real interest in the girl. Arya considered her options a moment before picking a drink off the table, gliding past the adults and tilting her cup a little too far to the right.

The blond let out a gasp and glared up at her, “Gods girl, are you a half-wit? You just split wine  _ all _ over my dress!” Mance cleared his throat and gave the blond a warning look.

“Apologies My Lady” Arya said polity, ignoring the insult. “It was an accident.”

The blond looked ready to scold her further but Mance interrupted, “You're Lord Stark's youngest daughter, aren't you?”

She nodded “Aye, My Lord” 

The blond girl paled “I-I'm sorry My Lady, please forgive me.” 

Arya scoffed “I split the wine on  _ your _ dress, remember?” 

She nodded, “Excuse me.” The girl stood and fled the Highborn Lady she just called a half-wit, the girl would probably spend the rest of the night paranoid Arya would tell her father. She watched her leave the way a cat might watch a mouse, but facing back to Mance, she smiled.

“A little young for wine, don't you think?” he offered, plucking the cup from her fingers and Arya shrugged. “I can't imagine your father approves.” he said putting the wine out of her reach.

“What he doesn't know won't hurt him.” she reasoned and Mance snorted. “I'm Arya.”

“Abel.” 

“Abel.” she repeated, eyeing the liar up and down, “I've never seen you before.”

“I'm sure there's a lot of people here you haven't seen girl, do you presume to know everyone in the North?” 

Arya climbed up on the seat the blond left empty, “More than you'd expect.” Mance glanced around, possibly looking for an escape. “Do you believe in magic My Lord?”

“I'm not a Lord” he reminded her.

“Which title would you prefer?”

“Abel is fine, I don't have a title.” 

“ _ Everyone _ has a title.” she argued, then motioned around them, “Lord's, knights, bakers, servants, stewards” placed a hand on her own chest “Lady” she gave him a knowing smile, “King?” Mance grew so still then he could've been mistaken for a statue. “Anyway, do believe in magic?”

“Do you?” he asked taking a rather large drink from his own cup of ale.

“I do.”

Manse seemed positively confused as to the nature of their conversation, “and what kind of magic do you believe in child?”

“I'm not a child.” she peaked up at the dais to check on her family and noticed her father was missing. “and all sorts, I've read all these stories. Skinchagers and resurrections, wood witches who can see the future, visit the past...dragons and the Others. Do you believe in any of those?”

“Skin-changers? Of course.” Mance didn't seem to know the rules of her game, but he decided to play along. “Resurrections and wood witches...I've heard some tales. But as for The Others and dragons, they're gone from the world.”

“and if they came back, do you think we'd be ready?” 

He frowned, “Men beat back the Others once, we could do it again.” 

Arya snorted at the certainty in his voice. “Maybe if we were prepared.”

“You should be going back, before your family misses you.” he suggested. 

Arya studied him a moment, the long brown air and dark eyes. He didn't look as tired as she'd seen him, less worn down from war and loss in this time. There was no use in telling him the flat out truth, he'd think her crazy. “I had a dream once where I met someone like you.”

“Did you now?”

She nodded, “He believed in all sorts of magic, told me I could use it to save him and everyone else.” Mance raised an eyebrow. “I did what he told me, and-”

“Arya?” her fathers voice cut her off as he pushed his way passed a drunken knight. “What are you doing?”

She glanced up, little grey eyes full of innocence. “Just talking to this...what was your title again?”

Mance cleared his throat, “It's just Abel My Lady.”

“Talking with Just Abel.” she finished.

“You said you were going to the privy.” The sternness in his voice would have been enough to strike fear in her when she was a girl, but now she could only find the idea of him trying to parent her amusing. She didn't smile though.

“I got distracted” she offered.

“Come on, your mother's looking for you.” those words would've been even worse once.

“Okay.” Arya jumped up off her seat, “It was nice to meet you,  _ Just  _ Abel.” 

“You as well, Lady Arya” he smiled “and settle my curiosity before you go, what did that man tell you in your dream?”

Arya let her nine year old face grow as serious as she could, “To make sure we're prepared this time.” she held her stare longer than normal before her father ushered her away, hoping against hope he'd remember their conversation someday.

 

Arya stood still as stone as her mother chided her about talking to strangers, apologized polity without any excuses. Finally her mother seemed satisfied and sent her to her room early before the feast ended. Arya could see the frustration on her parents faces, see their confusion as Arya simply apologized where she was sure she once might of screamed it wasn't fair, and she'd talk to who she wished. But she didn't have time for any of that, only a few moments after the Septa left Arya in her room, had she made her own exit.

Quiet as a shadow Arya made her way to the library. The room was half the size of the Great Hall, yet it was still an impressive collection. Arya felt uncharacteristically tiny as she roamed among the dusty old shelves, most the volumes far out of her reach. She'd never spent too much time in here when she was younger and in another life, books were just so bloody boring in comparison to watching her brothers train in the yard. Yet after the Kindly Man had forced her to sit down and read countless novels, she'd grown a grudging kind of love for reading. She was never a fan of sitting still, but all the impossible pieces of knowledge that hid away on these old crumpling pages had appeased her well enough. 

She spent half an hour searching hopelessly and sighing in frustration, until the door opened and maester Luwin entered with a handful of books and his chain ringing softly as he moved. “Lady Arya?” he asked surprised.

“Maester Luwin, perfect, I need your help.”

“Ah, what do you need?” he asked uncertainly.

“A book.” she said reading the spines of a few novels on the history of the Targaryen's reign. “A book on magic, do we have any of those?” 

“Magic?” Luwin shook his head, “Magic is gone from the world My Lady.”

“Yes, yes, I know. But surly we have a  _ few  _ volumes on the topic?” she reasoned. Luwin eyed her suspiciously, and just when she thought he might refuse her, she pressed on. “ _ please? _ ”

He sighed, “It figures when you finally wish to pick up a book, it'd be one full of nonsense.” he muttered under his breath and walked to the back of the library, placing his own books aside on an old desk. “What exactly are you looking for?”

Arya shrugged as she watched him bend down and unlock one of the drawers with an old iron key. “Why's it locked?”

“They've always been locked away” he said, “Some maesters from before my time thought information on magic a dangerous thing, a thing only to be seen by trusted eyes.” he grunted as he flopped the dusty old books on the desk. “old men full of superstitions.” 

Arya grinned, “You are an old man.” 

“Not so crazy as them I hope.” he gave her a kind smile, one of the ones she always missed.

“Well you do still keep them locked away.” she teased.

“Yes well, they were mostly forgotten” he told her as he started shuffling through the books. “Alright My Lady, what would you like to read?” he began picking them up one at a time “We have one on the powers of priests and priestess”

“ _ No _ thanks” she muttered and he gave her an odd look. 

“Okay...how about this one about wargs and skinchangers?”

“Better” she agreed picking it up, Arya already knew what she was capable of, of what she  _ would  _ be capable of. Yet she saw no harm in the chance to learn more. She blew the dust off the cover to see a large white bear with a rider cloaked in black, stuck in a snowstorm. Both their eyes glowed with red paint.

Luwin began listing off titles, books on sorcerers across the narrow sea, dragons and sea monsters, even one on the magic the Faceless Men possessed (which she picked up just to see how much they really knew) and many more about magic she'd never heard of. Fear gnawed at her stomach as they got near the bottom of his pile and not a single word on wood witches. He pushed one book aside without reading the tile and instantly she reached for it; a tiny black notebook with a cover lost in dust.

“What about this one?” she asked as she pulled it toward herself and wiped the dust off with her hand, frowning as the blue-grey ink stained her fingers. 

“Careful child, that one's very old.” he warned, “and written in another tongue.” 

“High Valyrian” she noted as she read the single line written red on the front, her gut falling to her toes. The cover was painted with the phases of the moon, the title written at the bottom under the full one. _I Lost Everything Going Back._

“Yes...how'd you know that?” 

“You must of shown me the words once, how else?” she waved it off as she opened the book. The thin yellowed pages were sprawled with messy black ink, and as she shuffled through she noted beautiful paintings on near every sheet. She didn't really read it, but words stood out at her as she skimmed the lines. _“What if I can't change anything?”“I fear I've made a grave mistake.”_ “ _The witch was a liar.”_ It was then she realized she was holding someone's diary. “T-Thank maester Luwin” she looked up and managed a smile, “I think I have what I need.” Picking up her other two books and sliding them under her arm, she cradled the diary tenderly in her hands, not daring to brush away a single word.

Arya fled the library before Luwin could ask her anymore questions, made her way back to her room without being disturbed and closed the door behind her. Throwing the books on the bed, she lit her candle and crawled across the navy blue blanket until she sat in the center, holding the diary as if it might jump up and bite her. What little words she read didn't seem promising, and with the title _“I Lost Everything Going Back”_ she wasn't sure how helpful these pages would be. 

_What's it matter what they lost going back?_ Arya had already been an orphan when she sought out that Witch Mance had sent her to, she'd already lost all her brothers and only the Gods knew what had happened to Sansa. All of Westeros had fallen apart by the time Arya had made it all the way North, the Wall had collapsed and the Night King's undead army had crushed all the ones in the North, what pathetic little armies they'd had time to prepare. Arya Stark had nothing more to lose, so she opened the notebook. 

Time was lost to her as her mind got lost in the girl's messy hand writing. Madysen Feller was her name, a girl of one and twenty, at least she was before the Witch sent her back to when she was six and ten. Madysen had lost the love of her life Ragnar in war, a senseless battle fought over an island in the South, one of the broken arms that once connected Essos and Westeros. The girl had been so heart broken she'd begged a Witch to bring him back, instead she'd told her she could give Madysen another chance. A chance to make sure the battle never happened. 

Madysen had made a mistake Arya hadn't been stupid enough to try yet; she told someone about what she did. She told her father Nathar everything, tried to convince him she'd really traveled back in time. Sadly he didn't believe a word of it, thinking his daughter had lost her mind, and as Arya read on and on she started to think Madysen  _was_ losing it. Her words became desperate as she grew more and more paranoid, not trusting and hating people for things they'd done in another time. Her father wanted to lock her away for her own safety but Madysen ran away before he had the chance. She ran to find Ragnar. 

Whoever Madysen had been when she was six and ten, it was far from the heart broken women that the Witch sent back. And when Madysen had found Ragnar, he'd no idea who she was. The girl he  _would_ have fell in love with, appeared only to be some crazy girl who'd grown obsessed with him. Arya rubbed at tired eyes as she read Madysen's thoughts, the anger that had tainted her heart to black. Her family thought she'd lost her wits, and the lover she went back to save saw her as completely mad. Now all she wanted was to find the Witch and kill her.

Arya jumped as her door opened, and blinked the drowsiness from her eyes as her father walked in.

“I know it's early...” his mouth fell open slightly, “Arya, have you not slept yet?” 

She yawned, “What time is it?” 

“Almost dawn.”

“Oh.” Looking out the window she realized she could hear the beginnings of morning birdsong. 

“What are you doing?” Eddard Stark came and sat on the end of her bed, such a surreal sight Arya could only stare slightly awe struck as he did so. One of his hands reached for the book in front of her, but in a flash she pushed it back.

“Don't” she said quickly and his frown deepened. “It's really old, and fragile.” she added. Picking it up gently, she placed it to the side.

Her father gave her a warning look, reaching over her, he grabbed Madysen's diary. He gave the cover a long stare, flipped through a few pages, probably thinking she was trying to hide something. “Arya, this book's not even written in the common tongue. Why were you reading it?”

“I was just looking at the pictures” she lied, she hated lying to him. 

“You stayed up all night looking at pictures?”

“No” she gestured to the other books, “I was reading those too.”

“Wargs and Skinchangers...The secrets of the Faceless Men?” her father shook his head, “Arya...that dream you had the other night, are you scared to sleep?”

“No, I just wanted to read.” 

“You still haven't told me what it was about.”

“It was nothing.”

“You were crying.” he reminded her but she didn't have an excuse for that. “You didn't seem to have any problem telling that stranger at the feast about your dreams.”

“That was something different.” she argued. Guilt washing over her as she read the pained look on his face, he had no idea what was going on with her. She glanced back down at the book, thinking about Madysen trying to tell her father the truth. Arya wouldn't make that mistake. “I'm sorry.” 

Her father flipped through the diary again, but looked around her room. “Did you clean?” 

Arya shrugged, “Last night yeah”

“That's ah, that's good.” he gave her an approving smile but she couldn't miss the confusion. It'd been a stupid thing to do, her mother trying to get her to clean when she was younger was worse than trying to give Rickon a bath. 

“Thanks” she muttered, her eyes darting to the page her father had left open on the bed. She frowned as she recognized the painting of a weirwood tree wrapped around the edge of the yellowed paper, a thin passage of writing in the center. There were no weirwoods in the South, why would Madysen be drawing them? Arya pulled the book toward her and squinted her eyes. 

“ _The Witch ruined my life, and one day I'll get my revenge. I've heard tales the bone white trees in the North hold secrets that whisper in their crimson leaves, answers to any question a man can think of. They say all a man needs do is bleed before the Gods, bleed as deeply as their ancient faces are said to. I can only hope the spirits of these trees will give answer to a women as well. I will find that Witch, even if it means my dying breath.”_

“Huh” she breathed, she could of hugged her father then. _Finally, an idea._ Arya still remembered the night at Harrenhal when she heard her father's voice brush her ear in the Godswood, and she didn't even have to bleed for it.

“Look, try and get some sleep before your mother comes and wakes you alright? I'll try and stall her if I can.”

“I will, and it won't happen again, I promise.” 

“Don't make promises you can't keep.” he chided as he stood up.

“I'm not, I swear.” 

“You've never been good at following rules.” he muttered.

Arya smiled bittersweet. “Too much wolfs blood.” 

He paused at her door with an odd grin, “My father used to call it the same thing.”  _I know._

“I love you.” she blurted then, a sentence she'd wished she said more when she'd had the chance. 

“I love you too Arya, now go to sleep.” 


	3. Paradise Lost

Eddard Stark stood on the bridge above the training yard, watching as Robb and Theon practiced, yet his eyes kept landing on his youngest daughter Arya. She was sitting on a bench on the side lines, head leaned up against the wall with her eyes closed. If he had to guess, he'd say she'd fallen asleep. Jon walked over to her, said something and got no answer. After a frown he reached for her, and gently touched her shoulder. In a heartbeat her eyes were opened, one arm gripped Jon's as the other instantly flew to her empty hip.

“How's Robb doing?” his wife's voice drew his attention, she had little Rickon wrapped around her neck.

“He's good” he muttered glancing back down at Arya and Jon, wondering what they were speaking of. More often than not they'd be smiling when they were around each other, but not this morning. Ned guessed it was because Jon was catching on to Arya's odd behavior as quick as he was.

“What's troubling you love?”

“Arya” he confessed, “she's been acting strange.”

“Yes, Septa Mordane says she's been attentive during her lessons, she even cleaned her room and made her bed last night _without_ being asked. Other than the incident at the feast, she's been polite and Lady like, not to mention I haven't seen a spec of dirt or mud on her in nearly two days. _Two days,_ Ned.”

“She's been quiet and distant.” He corrected “I think she's hiding something.”

“She's nine years old, what kind of terrible secrets could she possibly have?”

“I don't know.” He muttered, “She was reading these old books last night...”

“Arya? Reading?” Cat laughed, “You shouldn't be worried, if anything she might finally be growing up.”

“Most children don't do it over night Cat.”

“Arya's never been most children.” she reminded him with a fond smile. “She's alright Ned, just give it time. I'm sure she'll come back covered in dirt tonight.”

Catelyn was wrong, Arya hadn't come back covered in dirt that night; she'd come back soaked in her own blood.

 

When Catelyn Stark came to wake Arya it seemed as though she'd only closed her eyes for a few minuets. The rest of her day went by in a blurry haze, breakfast and stitching lessons passing by like a day dream. Madysen's diary was tucked under her cloak along with the small dagger she'd taken from the armory. She was planning to visit the Godswood the first chance she got, and she probably could have during her brothers training session, but she'd been _so_ tired. Momentary she closed her eyes and let the music of swordplay act as a lullaby.

“Arya?” she jerked awake, grabbing Jon's arm and reaching for a non existent sword.

“What are you doing?” she breathed, letting go of his arm and sitting up.

“What am I doing?” he repeated, “You were _sleeping_. And why did you grab me?”

“You startled me.” she accused.

“Did you not sleep last night?” he pressed confused, and wearily she shook her head.

“Not much.”

“Is this about that dream you had, be-”

“It's not about the stupid dream.” she snapped, her father had thought the same thing. _It's because I'm trying to keep you all from dying horrible deaths._ “I'm sorry.” she whispered, rubbing at her eyes. She'd been dreaming when Jon woke her, dreaming she'd told him and her father about what she'd done. They thought her as mad as Nathar thought Madysen, and cursed. Locking her in a cell and finding some red priest to expel the demons from her soul.

Jon sat down beside her, dark eyes so much like her own, full of worry; she was sick of seeing that expression on him, him and her father. No one else seemed to notice anything had changed drastically, only Theon sent her a cold glare when they caught each others eye now. “Why couldn't you sleep?” he asked quietly.

“I was just reading.” He gave her an odd look with the hint of a smile, “What? Bran's not the only one who likes reading.”

He raised his hand's in mock defense, “I didn't say anything.”

“Your eyes said plenty, trust me.”

There was a long silence before Jon spoke again, voice as soft as a summer breeze. “You can tell me anything, you know that right?” he said. “Whatever it is, you can trust me. I promise.”

Arya's throat tightened at his words and her eyes stung, she'd missed him _so_ much. The only brother she'd ever willingly let see her cry, the brother she'd never hesitate in telling the whole truth to, the only one she knew would accept her for all the terrible things she'd done...well almost all of them. “I know” her words were hardly a whisper, because she knew if she tried to speak, her voice would crack and she'd risk breaking down right there and then.

“Jon!” Ser Rodrick called, causing them both to look up.

“Coming!” he shouted back, giving Arya one last smile, Jon reached over and mussed her hair. “I'll speak to you later Little Sister.”

Arya nodded, not letting the tear fall down her cheek until Jon had his back to her. Sighing she pulled Madysen's diary out, gently turning the pages with the tips of her fingers. Arya found the part her father had opened this morning, the one where the weirwood took up half the page and it's red leaves hung over the passage in the center. “ _They say all a man needs do is bleed before the Gods, bleed as deeply as their ancient faces are said to.”_ Exactly how much was she expected to bleed?

Arya looked up at the sound of Bran bounding toward her, cheeks rosy from running or maybe climbing. “What are you reading?” he asked.

“I'm not” she gestured to the words. “It's written in High Valyrian.”

“Really?” his eyes grew round as he looked over her shoulder, “What do you think it's about?”

“I think it's a diary.” she pointed to the numbers at the top of a few pages, “You see? These look like dates.”

“How old do you think it is?”

“At least a few hundred years.” Arya glanced at the foreign numbers. Time was measured differently in Westeros since Aegon the Conqueror, in B.C. and A.C. (Before the Conquest and After the Conquest.) Evidently these terms wouldn't have been used before Aegon was even born. Whoever Madysen was, she would of died hundreds of years ago, and how her journal had made it this far north was still a mystery. Arya closed the book and put it away.

“Do you want to come help me make snowballs? I was thinking when Robb and Jon were done-”

“ _Yes._ ” Arya knew exactly what her little brother was thinking.

 

The entire afternoon was something Arya would've traded her life for once. Bran and Arya had ambushed Robb and Jon on their way back from the training yard, nearly two dozen snowballs prepared in advance for each of them. Bran had climbed up onto the roof of a building and Arya had placed herself behind a fence; a decent cover if Jon and Robb happened to throw some ammo of their own. They'd caught them completely unawares.

Nearly all of her shots hit the mark, her fingers still recalling years of throwing knives. Robb had ducked for cover and Jon had picked up a shield from the yard, holding it up as he tried to build his own weapons made of snow. Her offensive didn't last as long as she had hoped, she'd been too focused on getting past Jon's shield, she nearly didn't notice Robb sneaking up behind her. She landed a shot right in his chest before he bent over and threw her over his shoulder like a toy. She laughed and shouted, pounding his back with her tiny fists as he ran into the yard, all the while feeling as though she were in a dream.

“Game's over!” Robb yelled to the rooftop. “I've got your partner in crime, come out now or I'll show her no mercy!” Arya could hear the grin plastered on his face.

“Don't do it Bran!” she yelled.

“We got a brave one here Jon, stupid, but brave.” Robb teased.

“Put me down and I'll show you stupid.” she threatened and they both laughed. Her threats ended up being empty ones. Her training had prepared her in the arts of swordplay and assassinations, not snowball fights against two boys twice her size. With Bran's refusal to surrender, she found herself buried in a small mountain of snow.

When they returned to the castle her father and mother were there to witness them walk in shivering and covered in snow. Her mother had shook her head at them but Arya didn't miss the amusement in her Tully blue eyes, nor the subtle whisper that was directed to her father. “I told you so.” she muttered before directing Arya to go and change her clothes.

Once she was dressed and dry and warm, there was about an hour before dinner. It would be enough time to visit the heart tree she decided, and after the small war with her brothers; she was wide awake. Keeping to the shadows to be sure no one would follow her, she made her way to the Godswood. She almost pinched herself to ensure she was really awake, that she was really here. The oaks and ironwoods reaching up from the earth were half-forgotten friends, and when she found where the heart tree sat in the center of the untouched forest, it's scary face wasn't so scary as it used to be. It seemed more lonely to her if nothing else.

Arya bent down beside the dark pool of water that rested next to the weirwood, between the giant white roots that were bigger than her thighs. _Now what?_ Arya pulled out the dagger she'd stolen, but she wasn't exactly eager to cut herself just yet. Putting it aside she placed a hand on the tree's pale face, running a finger over the bloody tears.

“Tell me what to do” she whispered, “Tell me how to stop it.” she sat and she waited, and waited, but the dark red leaves whispered no secrets to her, showed her no answers. She had learned patience in another life, but it was wearing thin. Sighing she stood up, clean steal glimmering in the light of the setting sun, she opened her palm. “As if you haven't taken enough.” she scolded the tree. Tenderly she gripped her right palm around the sharp blade, hissing through gritted teeth as she ripped it from her wrapped fist.

Arya held up her cut hand, clenching her fist tightly while warm drops of blood fell and splattered the roots under her feet. “Tell me what to do.” she muttered again. Nothing happened, nothing but the stinging fire that was now her palm. Arya glared at the tree, “Is it not enough?” she growled. Desperately she brought the blade back to her hand, wincing as she cut herself once more. _Why are all the gods so damn greedy?_ Her fingers were slick with red, as was the snow at her feet, yet nothing happened.

Arya wanted to scream at the Gods, but thought better of it. It'd been her that had been stupid enough to think this would actually work after all. Her who'd been stupid enough to mutilate herself because of a story a girl had heard hundreds of years before. Leaning down by the pool she dunked her hand under the water, “I don't need the Gods for this.” she told herself, “I'll save them myself.” She gave the tree one last glare. “You failed them before, but I won't.” she vowed.

Arya had only stood up a moment when she heard a rustle in the trees, ducking down and holding the roots to steady herself as she scanned the undergrowth, and the world _spun._ The trunks of the trees around her curled into themselves, and their leaves blurred together. That was when she saw it...

Who'd contrived their fates before, how she could change it, and what would happen when she did... right down to her own funeral.

 

Jon watched as the servants brought out dinner, listened as Sansa told Bran about how Jeyne had a crush on someone they both knew, and furthermore went on to explain what a crush was. Everyone was here, even Theon, but not Arya. His father walked over to him, “Do you know where Arya is?” he asked, reading Jon's mind.

“I haven't seen her since the snowball fight.” He said, it'd only been a couple hours ago, but if Arya wasn't running off somewhere with him or Bran, then where was she?

“I'm worried about her.” Jon turned his head at his fathers confession, though Ned Stark was staring at something he couldn't see.

“Me too.” His father gave Jon a sad smile.

“I'm glad I'm not the only one who's noticed...could you go look around before Catelyn sees she's not here?”

Jon nodded, warmed a little by the trust his father had in him. Maybe it was the grey eyes they all shared, but there almost seemed to be an understanding between him, Arya, and their father. Eddard had always treated him fairly, more fair than most men would their bastards. And when Jon was with Arya it was easy to forget they weren't full siblings, she always treated him as she would any of her brothers, if not better than. As far as he knew, Arya had never crawled into Bran or Robb's bed after a nightmare, never went to them with her fears, or for a shoulder to cry on.

It took him longer than he hoped to find her, meaning her mother would notice she was late and Arya would get in trouble. He searched almost the entire castle to no avail, she wasn't sneaking snacks in the kitchen, or hiding in her room. She wasn't in the library either (not that he would've even checked if not for their earlier conversation) nor was she in Jon's room. Grudgingly he put on his cloak, walking out into the cold he started searching the yard, the armory, the kennels, anywhere he could think of. Just when he was about to give up, deciding she _must_ have went to dinner by now, he saw her.

Arya had her back to him, standing outside the Winterfell crypts as still as the wolf statues on either side of her. “Arya?” he called but she didn't move. _She can't be sleeping again,_ she was standing up this time after all. “ _Arya._ ”

Jon grabbed her shoulder and turned her to face him, his heart falling when he did so. Her face was ghostly pale and her hands were covered in what had to be blood. Her eyes almost seemed to have trouble focusing on him, “Jon” she breathed his name, blinked as if surprised he'd be there.

“What the hell happened?” he was not in the habit of swearing in front of her, but his nerves were getting the better of him.

Arya blinked a few more times, as if waking up from a daze. She looked at her bloody hands, one holding a bleeding fist. “Oh...” she glanced back up at him, eyes widening “I-It was an accident.” she said weakly.

“An accident?” Jon reached for her hand but she pulled it back.

“It's nothing, really-”

“Arya there's blood all over your sleeve!” he grabbed her tiny wrist, pulled her toward him. She half pleaded his name in protest as he untangled her fist, but he didn't stop, not until he found himself staring at the bloody “x” that was carved into her palm. Jon's grip loosened when he saw the cut, and in turn Arya tore her hand back to her chest. The way she glared then gave him pause, “Are you mad at _me?_ ”

“Don't grab me like that.”

“I'm sorry, I-” he shook his had slightly, trying to be calmer “What happened?”

His little sister looked down and opened her hand, whatever momentary anger she felt forgotten. “I...” Jon noticed then the pink rimming her eyes, the way they were slightly swollen underneath, as if she'd been crying. “It was an accident” she breathed once more.

 

And it seemed as the night went on, that was the only excuse anyone was like to get. His father's eyes had grown as big as saucers when he'd seen Arya in Maester Luwin's chambers, and Lady Catelyn had been frantic until Arya had managed to convince her she wasn't bleeding to death. Jon waited on the edge of the room, ignoring Lady Catelyn's glare as he did so. He was too concerned to care, Arya's eyes were still as clouded as when he'd found her. No tears filled them as her mother berated her, none even fell when Luwin began stitching her hand. She sat in sullen silence, her storming glare focused on the floor as if it had somehow wronger her.

“You can go now.” Lady Catelyn addressed him with hardly a glance. Luwin was pulling out wrapping for Arya's hand.

“I want him to stay.” she said, gaze still glued to the floor.

“He's not needed here, and never was.” her mother chided.

Arya's head snapped up at that, a fire in her eyes he hadn't seen in days. Somehow the fierceness burned hotter than it ever had...or maybe colder. “He's _my_ brother.” she stated, voice made of steal.

“He's your half-brother.” she corrected, frowning.

“He's just as much my blood as Robb or Sansa, and I'm sick of how you treat him!” she snapped.

“Excuse me?” Lady Catelyn was incredulous.

“He never chose to be a bastard, and you treat him terribly all because of your stupid _pride_.” Arya said it as though she were disgusted.

“Mind your tongue” her mother hissed, “You'll understand one day, when you grow up, he's not your brother, he's-”

Arya cut her off, anger flaring “He's more of a Stark than you are!” she shouted.

The room went quieter than the Godswood at night, quieter than death itself. Lady Catelyn had grown as still as stone, her blue eyes deprived of her heart. The two stayed locked in each others glares, mother and daughter wearing winter flames in their eyes, burning from confrontation. They stayed like that, Arya's knuckles turning white as she gripped the bed she was siting on; for a moment or maybe an eternity. He looked to his father but Eddard Stark was as lost for words as Jon was. Lady Catelyn never tore her stare away from her daughter as she addressed Maester Luwin. “When you're finished you can escort Lady Arya back to her chambers, she won't be needing dinner tonight.”

The Lady of Winterfell turned and stalked out of the room, heavy oak slamming behind her. As the door's slam shook the room Arya's eyes closed, her chin falling slightly as she exhaled. The silence hung heavy as Arya angrily wiped a tear from her cheek, until Luwin spoke, soft enough Jon hardly heard him. “Lady Arya...your hand.” he gestured tentatively to her grip on the bed. She brought up her hand, fingers shaking, leaving the wooden edge smeared with her blood. From where he was standing he had to guess half of Luwin's stitches had just come apart.

“Jon” he looked up as his father called him, “You should go, you two can speak in the morning.” Jon nodded and made his way to the door, glancing once more behind him. Arya held up her arm as Luwin picked up the needle and thread once more, and their eyes met as he pulled open the door.

Jon and Arya had always finished each others sentences for as long as she could talk, could read each other like books...but the past couple days it was as though she'd been written in another tongue. But as her dark eyes met his as he left, he knew exactly what that soft smile said. _“He's_ my _brother.”_ her words echoed in his head, warming his heart. He only hoped she could read the appreciation in his expression before the door closed behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is my Jonya heart bleeding through a little bit? If so I apologize, but they are my OTP. Since they won't be together in this fic, I'll be damned if they're not the closest siblings ever (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧  
> I'll be updating Goner next, but thanks for reading kindstanger, until next time (｡◕‿◕｡)


	4. The Words I Never Said

Ned Stark waited patiently for Maester Luwin to be done dressing Arya's hand. All the hell Cat would be giving him later that night running through his head, and making him wish Luwin would never be finished. His youngest daughter hadn't looked him in the eye yet, not since her mother left the room, but Ned didn't think it was shame or fear of punishment. Her eyes were downcast as Luwin worked, hardly even wincing from the needle being dug in her hand. It was slightly unnerving, as was the anger still brimming in her eyes.

No, Arya wasn't scared, not that she ever easily was...but this was different. She'd never spoken to her mother like that, and she'd never sit there ignoring him when it was clear there was a storm raging in her mind. By the time Luwin was done Ned had come to the conclusion it wasn't just her mother she was angry with. “Come on” he guided her out of the room, one hand on her back as they strolled through the garnet halls. He half expected her to apologize as they walked, to give him an excuse for her actions. Usually the silent treatment from him had Arya desperately trying to fill in the void, but not tonight. The remorseful little girl he knew had left, and the one before him was silently seething.

When they entered her room she threw her cloak on the bed, finally turning to face him and look him in the eye. “Well?” she said quietly, clearly expecting some kind of rebuke.

“ _Well?_ ” he repeated annoyed “You can't speak to your mother that way.”

“But she can treat Jon however she likes?” she challenged, the anger he'd sensed before breaking above the surface once more.

“Arya-”

“and you just _let_ her.” she said exasperated. “I don't get it, he's your son as much as Robb is.”

 _But he's not._ Ned could see her then, his sister, bleeding to death in the bed Jon was given life. _Promise me, Ned._ Arya just looked too much like Lyanna did. “I love Jon, Arya, don't you ever think I don't.”

“Then what is it? Are you ashamed of him?”

“I'm _not_ ashamed.” his voice rose without him meaning for it.

Arya wasn't deterred, “Then _what?_ ”

“Despite what you may think, this castle doesn't answer to you, and no one owes you an explanation for their actions.” he told her sternly. “And it's different for your mother, when you're older you'll understand better how she feels about him.”

Arya smiled bitterly, so bitter it almost seemed wrong on the face of a child. “When I'm older.” she repeated with a slow nod. “A few more years and I'm sure it'll all make sense.”

“It will.” he half growled, “and you'll apologize to your mother first thing in the morning.”

“I don't have anything to apologize for.” His daughter glared at him, with an anger he'd never seen directed at him before. “If anyone should apologize, it's _you_.”

“Don't push it.” he warned her.

“I just don't get it. You'll father a bastard but still die for your honor?”

He shook his head, now more confused than upset “What makes you think I'd die for my honor?”

“Are you saying you wouldn't?”

“Go to sleep Arya, and you _will_ apologize to your mother on the morrow” Ned walked to the door, glancing back a moment. For the life of him he couldn't figure out where all this rage had come from, and where his carefree willful daughter had went. The girl before him was braver, fiercer than she'd been before, a fury burning in her eyes she felt no shame for. The girl who'd bite her lip and let her eyes drop to the floor was gone, the girl before him was hardened and unyielding.

“You should tell him.” she whispered.

“Tell who what?”

Those grey eyes were piercing, so much like his sister's it stilled him. “You should tell Jon who his mother is, gods forbid something happens to you and he dies never knowing.”

Ned left without another word.

 

 

Jon pulled up the blankets to fight off the cold breeze that was sneaking in through a crack in his window. Yet no matter which way he turned, sleep would not come. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Arya standing by the door of the crypts, blood all over her hands and clothes, eyes distant and staring at nothing. He could hear her shouting at her mother too, _“He's more of a Stark than you are!”_ Jon loved her all the more for saying it, but he wasn't quite sure where her sudden courage had come from. Arya had always been brave, but never so bold as that.

As if she knew he was thinking of her, he turned to see her. He hadn't even heard her come in, but there she was, silently closing his door. She turned and stopped when she saw he was awake. “Can I sleep here?” she asked, voice a whisper.

“Your mother told you the other week you had to stop.” he reminded her.

Arya looked almost indifferent. “It's not as though she can be any more mad at me.”

He moved over and lifted the covers with a small smile, “Last time then, come here.” Arya crawled up on the bed beside him, pulling the blankets around them she leaned back and sighed, as though the whole world was resting on her chest. “You didn't have to do that.”

“Someone had to.” she said, “It's not fair how she treats you.”

“Life's not fair.” he reasoned.

“I _know_ that.” It seemed to him Arya was still angry, just as angry as she'd been when she was snapping on her mother.

“What did father say?” he ventured.

Arya snorted, “He wants _me_ to apologize. I won't do it.”

Jon gave her a long look, “Maybe you should.”

“Seriously?”

“I don't want you fighting with your mother because of me.” he insisted.

“It's not about you, it's about _her._ It's _her_ wounded pride she lets rule her, it's _her_ willful ignorance to anyone else's feelings but her own, and her...why are you looking at me like that?”

“Im...” _trying to figure you out._ It wasn't as though Arya being upset about his treatment was hard to wrap his mind around, it was her sudden passion about it. It was as though she'd been mad about this for a decade and was finally snapping. Like her fury was a quiet whisper on a mountain he'd never heard, finding it's voice now and launching an avalanche of cold buried rage. Arya sighed once more as if trying to push away the anger, but avalanches don't climb back up.

“How's your hand?” he asked, trying to get her away from her rage.

“It's fine.” she said and Jon became painfully aware again of how unsure he was around her, the girl who's sentences he used to finish not a few days before. Now he'd no idea what was going on in her head, or behind the vast depths of her eyes. There was a long pause, the both of them staring up at the ceiling as if it held all the answers they were searching for. “You were right.” she told him solemnly.

“About what?”

“My dream.” she muttered while sitting up and leaning against the headboard, defeat clouding her gaze. “I can't get it out of my head Jon.”

He pushed himself up, so they sat shoulder to shoulder, “What happened in the dream Arya?” he asked wearily, the smallest ember of hope in his chest, the hope she'd tell him what had changed her so drastically.

She bit her lip then, the bottom getting caught painfully between her teeth. The familiar sight lessened the weight in his chest; he hadn't even realized she'd stopped doing that. She looked up at him, grey eyes round with emotion. “You died.” her voice was hoarse when she spoke. “You all did, Father and Mother, Robb, Bran, Rickon...I don't know what happened to Sansa, but she was gone too.” her eyes shone with tears in the dim moonlight of the room.

Jon reached over and pulled her against him on instinct, “It's okay” he whispered.

She shook her head, “You don't understand, it wasn't...” she sighed and deflated, “It... _felt_ real.”

“No one's dying, do you hear me?”

Arya shook her head against his chest, “No. They're not.” she agreed with quiet resolve. “Jon...I had a chance to fix it, to save all of you.” she paused, sniffled. “But to do it...I had to lose you all over again.” Her voice broke and her fingers tightened around his shirt, he knew she was crying. “Would you do it, give up everything and everyone to save us?”

“I'd give up everything and everyone just to save _you._ ” he told her. The words were meant as comfort, but her tiny body shook with sobs. Jon held her as tightly as he could without hurting her, trying to picture what she saw in her dream, what could have his fearless little sister in tears even days later.

“I know you would Jon, I know.” her whisper was smothered in his neck, her tears damp on his skin.

“It was a dream, no matter how real it felt, it's not going to happen.” he assured her, intertwining his fingers with hers.

“What if it wasn't?” she breathed.

“Arya-”

“ _If._ ”

“Then...then you'd do whatever was right. You'd save father and your mother, Robb, Bran, and Rickon, and even Sansa from whatever trouble she'd got herself into.”

“And you.”she said, pulling away to look him in the eye, “I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

“First, nothing is going to happen to me. Second, it would never be your fault.”

“Until it is.” she said looking down, but glanced up quickly. “Promise me something.” Her eyes were rimmed red and her hair a little messy, with tears still drying her cheeks but his heart skipped a beat by the seriousness in her gaze.

“Anything.”

“Don't trust _anyone_ , okay? Forget about honor, and vows, or whatever you believe binds a man. I don't care how loyal you _think_ they are, never turn your back on them.”

Jon's head tilted as he attempted to understand her, “Arya...”

“ _Promise_ _me._ ” she pressed, “We're not going to be in Winterfell forever, and I need you to be careful when we leave.”

“Okay, I promise. I'll never trust a single friend I make.” she gave him a little glare for his sarcasm.

“Jon-” she started, annoyed.

“I promise, okay?” he tightened his grip on her hand. “But you have to promise me something too.”

“What?”

“That tomorrow morning when we wake up, I'll get my little sister back.”

He never knew a smile could weigh so much, the corners of her lips pulling upward almost painfully. Arya nodded, eyes cast down. “Okay” she whispered, laying down beside him.

He wrapped an arm around her and held her as if he'd never get the chance again. “You can sleep here whenever you wish to Little Sister, it doesn't have to be the last time.”

She sighed, and closed her eyes. “It will be.”

 

When the light crept through Jon's window, Arya wanted nothing more than to ignore it. To will the sun back under the earth so she could spend one last night beside her brother, her very much alive brother. Instead she sat up, wiped the sleep from her eyes and pulled the blankets off. Jon stirred beside her, rolling over with half closed eyes, dark eyes like hers. “What are you doing?” he muttered.

“I should get back before mother wakes me, that's if she bothers to.” she told him climbing off his bed.

Jon blinked the sleep away, “What are you going to tell her?”

Arya paused, looking out his window at the snowy rooftops, taking in the view. “I don't know.” She could apologize, she knew there was a good chance she'd regret it if she didn't, yet if those were the last words her daughter ever said to her, might be Lady Catelyn would actually hear them. “I'll see you at breakfast.”

“Okay, see you.” Jon watched her as she sneaked quietly out of his room.

Arya's intuition was correct, her mother never came to wake her, only Septa Mordane showed her face in Arya's chambers. The guilt tugged at her heart, the look on her mothers face playing on repeat in her head, but the idea of apologizing when she knew she was right made her skin crawl. _Now who's pride is getting in the way?_ A small voice scolded in the back of her mind, but she ignored it.

All feelings of guilt fell away faster than the rain when she sat down for morning meal with her family, and Jon wasn't there. Arya sat as far from her mother as she possibly could, even a fair distance from her father after their last encounter.

“Where's Jon?” Bran asked, with all the innocence of the eight year old he was.

“Jon's eating in the kitchens this morning.” Her mother answered coldly, sparing Arya an icy glare. A look like that would have struck her terrified before, but Arya met her stare with just as much fire. Robb and Theon exchanged a knowing look and Bran just glanced sadly back down at his plate. Arya's grip on her fork tightened and she glared at the table, an all too familiar fury boiling under her skin, the bitter drink of injustice. She tasted it on the Trident where Mycha was murdered, drank it in when Joffery called for her fathers head, swam in it when in the Riverlands and Harrenhal, and almost drowned after Red Wedding.

It took nearly everything to sit through that meal, but she held her tongue. Even knowing she'd never apologize to her mother, knowing she'd never feel her embrace once more. She might have cried if she hadn't learned to shove her emotions back, deep inside her chest, all in another life. Once everyone was done eating Arya made her way out of the hall without being noticed, another talent she learned in another life. She knew she'd be expected to go to her stitching lessons in about an hour or so, but she'd be damned if that was how she'd spend her last day in Winterfell.

Outside the armory stood Sansa and Jeyne whispering to each other, with the boys circling around in the yard. Robb was paired with Theon, and Jon was giving little Bran pointers. Sansa looked up as she approached, “Arya.” her eyes were dripping with interest, “What happened with you and mother?”

“Did she say something?”

“No, but I overheard the Septa saying you crossed a line, and both of you hardly spoke at breakfast.” Arya sighed, knowing exactly who's side _this_ Sansa would take. Part of her wondered for the hundredth time what had became of her in the timeline Arya was from, would she have become more understanding? Would she have cared less about titles and more about the people carrying them?

“We fought about Jon.” she confessed, not caring to lie.

Sansa's voice was almost patronizing “He's a bastard Arya, when will you just learn to accept it?”

“I don't have a problem accepting that” she growled back, “But I won't accept how he's treated for it.”

Her sister only shook her head in disappointment, but Jeyne filled in the response. “I wouldn't expect Arya Horse-face to understand anything.” she sneered.

Arya looked up and watched as Bran sat down on the sidelines, glancing back once more she spoke calmly, the last words Jeyne Poole would ever hear from her. “Go fuck yourself Jeyne.” Both girl's mouths fell open slightly, Arya only smiled politely and walked off toward her younger brother. Stopping on her way as she passed Theon taking a drink of water on the edge of the yard.

“Hey, can I talk to you a second?”

“Depends, is that a command for your hostage?” he asked sourly.

Arya smiled sadly, looking down at her feet a moment. “Okay, I deserved that.” Theon didn't answer her, he only frowned, waiting for her to continue. “I wanted to apologize for what I said the other day.”

“Well go on then.” he squinted at her suspiciously. _Must he make this harder?_ Her pride was already a bitter enough bite to swallow without his arrogance piled on top of it.

“You're not a hostage, anyone who says different doesn't know what the hell they're talking about. My father raised you with the rest of us, you...you're as much a Stark as you are a Greyjoy.” It definitely came out a little more awkwardly then she had hoped, and Theon looked as uncomfortable as she felt.

“Are you making fun of me?” he asked, anger in the corner of his eyes.

“No! I'm serious, just...whatever okay? Can we just forget it?”

Theon nodded, “Done. You're being weird as hell, you know that?”

She grinned, “I thought you didn't swear in front of Ladies?”

“That was before they started swearing in front of me” he teased.

Arya gave him a warm smile, feeling slightly better for the first time that day. “Goodbye Theon.”

“See you later.” he said, and she didn't correct him.

 

Arya sneaked up behind Bran and tapped his shoulder, he jumped, startled. “What's going on?”

“I wanted to ask you a favor.”

“What is it?” he asked as she climbed over the bench to sit beside him.

“We both know, you know Winterfell better than any of us.”

He smiled with triumph, “Obviously.”

“I want you to show me the best view in the castle.”

“Don't you have sewing lessons soon?”

Arya gave him a look, “please?”

“Fine, come on, before we're noticed.” She nodded, sparing the training yard one last glance behind her. Sansa and Jeyne were still off to the side, giggling about something Arya was sure she wouldn't find amusing, Ser Rodrick was lunging at Theon with a blunted sword, and Robb and Jon were sparring once more. Her brothers danced around each other, their eyes were gleaming with challenge but their smiles were laced with an unspoken respect and what Arya knew to be affection. They both laughed when Jon almost landed a blow on Robb's chest, the kind of careless laughter she was going to miss.

Robb and Jon were both men grown, according to her mother and father and most everyone else in Westeros, but Arya knew better now. They were only children, playing with swords, never truly being forced to wield them yet. Boys whose breathless laughter was made of an innocence she found herself longing for. She stood there, holding onto the sight for as long as she could, willing herself to never forget it. Jon and Robb dancing in the yard, laughter filling the air already littered with snowflakes.

“ _Arya_ ” Bran hissed impatiently. Jon looked up then, catching her eye and smiling.

She smiled back, giving him the smallest of waves before turning around. “Coming.”

 

The Broken Tower was where Bran had brought her. “Are you sure about this?” she'd asked, dark eyes searching the crumbling stone, a deep feeling of forbidden holding her to the earth.

“Like you said, I know best.” he grinned, “Not scared are you?”

She was sure those words would have had her racing him to the top in another life, instead she only studied him, fearing the fate he'd met before. “No. Just be careful.” she'd waved a hand, “after you, _oh wise one_.”

Bran laughed, digging his small fingers into grey stone and hauling himself upward, with startling grace for an eight year old. Arya scurried up behind him, eyes on her brother's movements as a bottomless pit formed in her stomach; if she were the reason Bran fell from this tower in this time, she wasn't sure how she'd live with it. Yet he was as sure footed as she always remembered him being, as agile as the monkey her parents had always said he was; and with the extra experience under her belt, she knew it to be true, though Bran had far less hair.

Arya copied her brother's movements, keeping pace with him all the way. It seemed to her she was finally getting used to this body. What little strength she had rendering in her mind, teaching her the bounds and limits of her capabilities. Even with this realization, she was breathing heavily by the time they reached the top, her muscles throbbing under her skin with complaint.

“You're getting better! Have you been practicing climbing without me?”

“Wha?” Arya took a deep breath to steady herself; she was exhausted. “Hardly, look at me, I can't even breath over here.”

“Still, you're twice as fast as you were before.” he countered.

“I just put my feet where you put yours.” she told him, walking over to the edge of the tower's roof. The view stilled her to the core, if her heart wasn't pounding from exertion it might have stopped. The sight from the top was all she could of hoped for and more; she could spot the men working in the yard, mending and shaping steal, the clanks ringing queerly through the air and off the walls. Pinpoint half the rain-wore gargoyles that were lined all around the Firstkeep, and see the blurry shapes of dogs running back and fourth beside the kennels, howling and yelping for more bloody meat. The shapes of the roofs sticking up inside the castle walls, dressed in crowns made of snow. The most beautiful part, was the tips of the heartree's branches gleaming above the Godwood's shadowy forest. Almost like the pure hands of the gods reaching up for the heavens, grasping their way above the surrounding black stained branches.

For a moment she imagined she and the heartree were the same. An anomaly in it's own habitat, something right where it was meant to be, but not in the same certitude everything else was. The people around her and the pines and ironwoods surrounding the weirwood, were standing tall and strong, their roots clinging to the earth and their beliefs for security as tightly as they could. But the heartree's roots ran deep, deeper than any tree's in the forest. The pale tree saw as much as the Old Gods did, and maybe that's why they were destined to cry forever; tears the color of all the loss they'd bared witness to.

“Are you alright?” Bran asked.

Arya wiped the tears from her cheeks, taking a glance at her hands afterward. Her tears were nearly invisible, just a catch in the light. Not near so profound as the Old God's, yet she could feel it, the loss and pain, and it felt like she _should_ be bleeding. “I'm fine, Bran. Thanks for this.” Arya reached over and took his hand, gave him as reassuring as a smile as she could manage. “I love you Bran.”

He gave her a long look, confusion and empathy glowing in those blue depths. “I love you too Arya.” She inspected the branches once more and squeezed his hand tight, dreading letting go, and wondered if the heartree would bleed as many tears as she would that night.

 

The next morning when Lady Catelyn went to wake her, Arya was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading kindstranger! There's going to be a time jump soon, maybe next chapter, I'm not quite sure yet. I'll try to update soon this time, but I'll be jumping between fics.  
> And thanks so much for all the comments, I love reading them <3


	5. When I Was Done Dying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and 84 years later she updated one of her fics.

She studied his mismatched eyes closely, the way they darted around in search for an escape, or maybe for the opportunity of attack. But she'd had years of experience, maybe not more than him, but more years then anyone would guess by looking at her. She was in fact, half a decade older than she appeared, a girl who'd seen more sunsets than the older brothers she hadn't spoken to in years ever had. Her adversary cleared his throat, sweat darkening the pale blond hair around his ears. He could beg for mercy, not that it would do him any good, besides that wasn't his style. In truth this had been harder for her than she expected, she never would have guessed Tyrion Lannister of all people would have challenged her as much as this.

“Bugger this.” he muttered “Just end it already.”

She grinned, a little smugly. “As my Lord wishes.” With a delicate touch she slid her wooden dragon a few spaces forward, “It appears your King is dead.”

The Imp reached over and dramatically flicked his King's little head, the piece nearly rolling off the board entirely. “I'd wager you tricked me.” he growled from across the table.

“and I'd wager you underestimated me.” she countered, “Now what's that saying I always hear? A Lannister always...what was it?”

“Pays his debts.” he finished for her, reaching down to a hidden pocket in his tunic he pulled out five sliver coins and placed them before her.

She didn't move to take them, “It was three silver, remember?”

“Oh I recall, you recall what I was to get it, if you had lost?” he smirked and she nodded. “Surly this exceeds your usual payments?”

She bit back a retort and grinned, placed a finger on each of the two coins and slid them back over as she leaned in. The air was thick and hot in the dim room, and the single candle lighting their corner filled it with a cheap essence. “I'm sure it exceeds most women's payments My Lord, but I don't work here.”

He frowned, confused. “You...You're...”

“Not a whore.” she finished kindly.

Tyrion leaned back in their booth, his mismatched eyes looking at her in a darker light; less lustful, more distrustful. He took a drink of his wine, “I don't suppose most girls look for Cyvasse opponents in Brothels.”

She leaned back and copied him, taking a drink of her own wine. “Who'd ever wish to be most people?”

“You're not a whore, but you'll gamble your body for silver?” he provoked.

“You wouldn't believe the risks I've taken Lannister, my body's hardly the worse thing I've jeopardized.”

“And what would the worst be?” the defeated lion asked.

The grey eyed girl shrugged nonchalantly but answered honestly, and the little lion smiled at what he thought was a jape. “The entire fate of Westeros I suppose.”

“ _Madi_ ” the stern and very familiar voice drew both their attention. “Is she bothering you sir? She makes a habit of it.” the dark haired women gave her a glare but Madi could only smile in return.

“That's hardly fair Bre, imagine how boring this place would be without me?”

“Places like this are rarely boring” Tyrion muttered half to himself.

“I'd much rather imagine our customers spending their money on my girls, what I'm sure he was intending to do.” Bre waved a hand at Tyrion. Her true name was Brealla, but no one ever called her so. She was the owner of this fine establishment, a fairly up kept brothel for how close it was to flea bottom, a place people called Woodies.

“The nights still young, and guess how much you just made without anyone taking off their clothes.” Bre only looked at her impatiently, “Oh just open your hand.”

There was a moments hesitation as they stared each other down, Madi waiting for her to comply and Bre no doubt trying to stay stern. But she gave in, extending her hand with all the dramatics of the teenagers she had working for her. “Fine.”

“Close your eyes.” Madi teased, Bre's lips were in a firm line but she closed her eyes, and Madi swore she could see a hint of excitement being bit back. When Bre's brown eyes opened once more, they opened wide as she gaped at the two slivers in her hand.

“Madelyn” she whispered it as though she'd done something wrong.

“Madi” she corrected.

“I thought you didn't work here.” Tyrion piped in.

The girls answered at the same time “I don't.” “She doesn't.”

“Gods, we should be paying _you._ ” Bre muttered extending her hand back, “Madi-”

“Don't, the money's yours.” she stood up, finishing her cup of wine, “save me a seat tomorrow?” she offered Bre a playful nudge and the women gave her a grateful smile. “And it was a pleasure doing business with you, My Lord.” Madi did her best curtsy, tugging her long sleeved shirt as if it were a dress.

Tyrion Lannister was not impressed. “You knew who I was the moment I walked in here, didn't you?”

“How could I not recognize the Queen's own brother?”

“The same way no one else did.” he offered.

Madi gave him a long look, “I've never seen a dwarf dressed as fine as you unless he was a mummer, pretending to be someone like you. Not to mention the guards you left at the door, and the one sitting at the table behind us.” she smiled politely as the guard turned his head, “and I figured the Master of Coin would be willing to gamble a little”

Tyrion laughed, “You're quite perceptive My Lady.”

“It's Madi.”

He raised his hands in mock defense, “Madi” he corrected with another chuckle, “might be you'd make a better Master of Coin then me, takes certain amount of intuition.” he teased.

“After what happened to the last one?” Bre cut in aghast, “No, she's staying here.”

Madi's eyes glowed, “That was a shame wasn't it? Poor man. Anyway this has been fun, but goodnight.”

“You be careful on your walk home” Bre warned.

“No one's like to try anything with Deke around, don't worry.”

“Might be I wouldn't if you lived someplace kinder, which you could do if you didn't give all your coin away.”

“Not complaining are you?” Madi japed.

“No, but-”

“Good.” Madi gave Tyrion one last smile before he nearly jumped out of his seat. Beside him stood a wolf that was nearly invisible in the gloom of the room. His face, ears, and paws all black, the rest a mix of black and a dark grey.

“The bloody hell.” he muttered, “is that a wolf?”

“That's Deke, now come on boy.” The girl gave a short whistle.

“And give your lover my regards.” Bre smirked.

“He's _not_ my lover.” Madi glared at her before walking for the door.

“And stay out of trouble!” Bre added behind her.

Madi didn't look back, her ever constant shadow at her heels and a pair of mismatched eyes following her intently as she went. “Like I said, the night's still young.”

The air was cool, the swift breeze ruffling her sleeves, tickling the pale skin underneath. A thin rain was falling so she pulled her black cloak over her head, the splash of the puddles echoed oddly inside her hood. Deke padded next to her silently, appearing as a distorted shadow in the darkness. Only when they passed by a tavern or the odd home with the lights still on was he truly visible. Arya Stark had found him on her trek south down the Kings Road, a pup wandering on it's own. Sometimes, she wondered if he'd been left behind by his pack, or if he ran away as she had.

Since she found him he had become her second pair of eyes, and almost constant companion. He knew her inside and out, better than Nymeria now, a thought that was almost bitter. Arya hadn't bothered to warg any animal after the day she left Winterfell, not until she'd found him. The whole thing reminded her too much of Nymeria, and she knew that if fate played as much a role in this time as it did in the last, then the family she left behind would have six new members by then.

It was a futile effort at first, trying to connect with Nymeria from the South, she had no idea who Arya was after all, no tether to reach out for. But Arya became relentless in her journey, warging any animal whenever she got the chance. She had to become as powerful a warg as she possibly could, the fate of the Seven Kingdoms depended on it. She learned each creature possessed an eternal warmth that was entirely unique, each and every horse, cat, dog, raven, or wolf. They were all different in their own right, warmer or colder, softer or sharper, thicker or thinner, and as Arya learned these differences she remembered how Nymeria had felt in another life.

A small weight had been lifted when Arya had finally found her, and in Winterfell none the less. Yet that weight came crashing down a thousand times heavier as soon as she actually saw what Nymeria could. Winterfell was deathly quieter than she remembered, a dark cloud hovering over everyone and everything, reminding her of the day after Bran had fallen from the Broken Tower. It was almost too hard to watch at first, but she couldn't bare look away, couldn't stop checking in on the pack she'd abandoned. Both her mother and father had appeared years older than they did since last she'd seen them, and it'd only been a few moons then. There was no way to speak to them when she visited, no way to apologize for what she'd done, no way to make them understand. Understand it wasn't their fault, understand how much worse it could be, how much worse it had been. Arya would have given anything to have them know she was okay.

For weeks she watched them through Nymeria's eyes, comforting them as much as she could. Nymeria had been left unclaimed because Bran had insisted she should belong to Arya (who he refused to believe wasn't coming home) and no one dared argue, so the direwolf pup wandered freely for the most part. But more often than not she'd fall asleep in Jon's chambers, curled up next to him and Ghost. She tried to make him smile sometimes, but it hardly worked. Her half-brother's grief echoed in Ghost and the emptiness slipped under Nymeria's fur every time Arya shared her skin. But the girl would search for her warmth every night to check in on them, seeing her family was far more bitter than sweet, but she just couldn't stop herself.

Nothing hurt more than the evening maester Luwin held a service in the Godswood, all her family had attended. Most nights Arya was the one who reached for Nymeria, but that night it felt as if she had reached for her. The scene made no sense to the direwolf at first, yet when the reality set in the fur on her back rose, and if a direwolf could cry, she would have. If not for her vision from the Old Gods, Arya might not have known she was bearing witness to her own funeral. Her mother was stricken, eyes red and swollen, Sansa was crying too but still hauntingly beautiful. Robb looked older with how serious he'd grown, and Rickon must have sensed his family's mood for he was unseemly somber. Bran had but a single tear that he wiped away, and Nymeria could feel the denial radiating off of his direwolf Summer in waves.

Eddard Stark wore his Lord's face, as Arya once called it. It wasn't the look of the parent she'd adored, but the one the whole of Winterfell had respected. Yet the girl could see the grief buried in those grey eyes. Beside him stood Jon, his face a dark pool that gave nothing away. Nymeria had padded over to stand beside him and her brother as the maester spoke, leaning her head against Ghost's. The moment her skin touched his, she reared back in dismay. There was anger burning off him, rage and such grief it tore her heart in two. Stepping back from him and her own guilt, her golden eyes met Summer's. A warmth itched under her skin then, her fur rising as the familiar feeling burned through to the girl hiding in the direwolf's mind.

When Nymeria's eyes had met Summers, Arya's had somehow met Bran's. They'd both froze at first, and icy fear washed over her, instincts freezing her as she tried not to panic.

 _Sister?_ The question was a whisper in her mind, but it tore deep into her chest.

 _No._ she thought, _No, I'm sorry._ She wasn't sure if he could hear her thoughts then, and hoped he couldn't.

 _Arya?_ The voice asked again. _I can hear you._

 _No, I'm not...I'm sorry._ She fled then, she forced Nymeria's legs to move away from the only family she'd ever know, the same as she had.

After a few months Arya supposed it was for the best, even if Nymeria couldn't follow her path, she should still claim the Riverlands as she did before. A pack of hundreds of wolves would be needed in this time too, and even if Arya was destined to be the lone wolf it didn't mean Nymeria had to be. Arya would never forget her family, but not watching their grief every night in her dreams did make it easier to look forward, no matter how dark the future was.

The streets of King's Landing were empty as she walked, people hiding from the rain's touch, so Arya was mostly alone, other than Deke of course. In another life Arya had hated this city with a seething passion, wishing for it to be burned down or washed away from the world. Yet even when that did come to pass, it never brought her as much joy as she'd imagined; nothing ever seemed to bring her much joy, not Cersei's demise, not Walder Freys head, not anything. Now, not she'd ever admit it to herself, King's Landing had grown on her heart like a kind of benign tumor, one that couldn't be removed without tearing her apart. The unkempt streets she knew almost better than Braavos, the relentless half naked children always finding trouble one way or the other, and the people just trying to make a decent living in this shit city, (the smell was one part that would never grow on her) she felt a fondness for all of it.

Arya Stark had made this city her home of sorts, living in the shadows of the Lannisters and Baratheons. After her initial arrival, she spent the next four years (give or take) learning everything there was to learn about King's Landing. The girl knew all the streets, the best places to find a drink or cheap bed for the night, the places you were safe and the places to avoid, but most importantly she knew the Red Keep like the back of her hand. Maegor the Cruel had tunnels built that weaved inside and around the Red Keep, killing all the builders so that no one would ever know them, but she did. Some halls were simply decoys, leading to dead ends and random drop offs where you could fall and break a leg, but others lead straight to the chambers of the most important monarchs in Westeros.

The girl had yet to use any, not since poor Petyr Baelish died in his own chambers all those years ago. For now, as she prepared for the future war, Arya was just trying to keep the bloody peace. Robert still sat on the throne, with Cersei as his wife and his three “children” much more alive than they'd been in her time. The Queen's secret was still just that, a secret, and Tommen, Myrcella, and Joffery were all still safe, well as safe as any heirs are like to be in this world.

Arya veered down a dark street, grey eyes attentive for any sign of threat, her second pair of eyes beside her as they always were. The streets of this city were structured like a spider's web, branching off in every which way, and inside it's web flew it's little birds. Arya never called them that, but their master did, Varys; The King's Spider. He used these children to capture information in his web, sucking the city dry of all it's secrets, but what his birds learned so did she. To keep the peace is this city, she had to know a lot more than the best places to get a decent drink in King's Landing.

The girl sat down against the side of a rugged old building, the dark red stones crumbling and digging into her back. Deke sat beside her, ears perked and twitching at every distant sound the city gave rise to. She closed her eyes and listened, but not with her own ears. Distantly she could hear men laughing and signing, the chimes of bells and the whistle of a flute playing some chipper song. A rugged cough echoed down the street she'd veered off of, and their steps shuffled on the paved stone. After about twenty minuets of waiting she heard the familiar soft steps of a child.

Lexa was only two years younger than Arya, physically anyway, mentally Arya had seven years on the girl. For a twelve year old though, the girl was strikingly beautiful, dark brown hair and glowing green eyes that looked right through you. She was an orphan like most of Varys's little birds, a girl who needed money to get by like anyone else, too young for labor and too much pride to sell herself, so she dealt in a trade less known to the common folk. Some secrets the little birds found were worth just as much as any freshly forged sword or pretty girls maiden head, and Lexa was one of the best in the city at finding them.

The girl approached her as quietly as a ghost, sparing Arya a smile before kneeling down and petting Deke who gave her hand a welcoming lick. The girl's thin wool cloak was tied around her neck and dipped in the puddles as she crouched down, turning the brown fabric almost black. “Greetings Wolf” she whispered and she rubbed Deke behind his ears, but it wasn't him she was speaking to.

“And how are you Raven?” Arya asked; most of the people who worked in the trade of secrets, lived in it as well.

“As well as I ever am, I have news” she announced with a smirk.

Arya returned it, “You always do.”

“Now isn't that the truth?” Lexa's voice rose as she placed both her hands around Deke's face and spoke as people do to babies.

She chuckled, “He's not a puppy you know.”

“But he's so darn cute, and loyal I imagine.”

“More than most.” she agreed, waiting patiently for the girl to share her news.

Her green gaze grew somber as she stared into the wolf's, “and what requital will you receive?” she muttered to Deke before drawing her hands back and letting his face fall. “He has your eyes you know.”

“They're grey” she agreed, but Arya couldn't say they ever reminded her of herself.

“Have you heard anything of the Dragon Queen in the East?”

Arya frowned, “I thought you were the one with news?”

Lexa sighed, “I am, but it's complicated and I don't have all the pieces I'd like.”

She nodded in understanding, “Tell me what you know, maybe I can fill in some blanks.”

“The stories of Daenerys have only been spreading and growing wilder this past year, whispers of dragons hatching and cities falling, they even say the girl has broken the slave trade in Astapor.” Arya nodded again, as far as she knew she'd done nothing so far to affect Daenerys's timeline. “The King is growing restless, he wishes to take action.”

“What kind of action?” she whispered, and Lexa peaked up and down the ally they were crouched in. “Don't worry Raven, if anyone were here, Deke would tell us.”

“He wants her dead Wolf, and the Frog told me he's willing to pay a high price for her head. He told me they want to hire someone faceless...I don't know what that means.”

The air felt colder at the word, and the rain that was falling lightly a moment before pounded on the hood of her cloak. “I do” she breathed.

“What does it mean?” Lexa asked, the innocent curiosity in her eyes giving away her adolescence.

“That's not for you to worry about Raven, be careful with who you share this with, here.” Arya took the girl's hand and placed a single coin in it. “You won't see me for a long while, but Deke will be around.” She stood and Deke followed suit instantly.

“What are you talking about, where are you going?”

Arya sighed, the all too familiar weight of the world resting heavily on her shoulders. “East”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But holy sh*t guys, thanks for all the comments! and over a hundred bookmarks?! (°ロ°) my gosh I hope you guys like where this is going (>人<)


	6. Wish You Well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh writing...I'll always come back to it. sorry for the wait tho<3

Arya scurried back into the city through the River Gate, better known as the Mud Gate to the people of King's Landing. The ship she'd need to board didn't leave until tomorrow at first light, which was all well to her considering she'd yet to say any goodbyes. Not to mention Bre would be holding her a seat tonight at Woodies, and she still had to secure a place for Deke.

King's Landing was the most populated city in all of Westeros, at least half a million people stuffed in between every ally, and it showed. There were signs of life everywhere one could look, children running about, merchants yelling their best prices, whores whistling from windows or standing outside brothels. So many people and so much noise, as much as Arya loved it, she hated it. It was odd how much you could appreciate the life of a city, but crave the deathly quiet nights in the North where the only sound breaking through the silence was the wind whispering in the trees, or a wolf calling to its pack.

Arya tried to push away those thoughts as much as she clung to them, memories of a castle that only brought a hollow hole to ache in her chest. She felt that way long before she'd met that witch in the North, but she wasn't sure if knowing her family was alive made that hole more shallow or deeper. Knowing they could still laugh, enjoy namedays, train and learn, fall in love and start families of their own could bring a smile to her lips, but knowing she'd miss every moment of it could bring tears to her eyes.

Deke ran ahead of her suddenly, chasing a pigeon that flew faster than he could run. Muddy water flew in his wake, and Arya covered herself with her cloak as fast as she could. “Seriously?” she scolded.

“This city ain't no place for a wolf, girl.” A merchant growled from the side of the road, his sun-kissed skin wrinkled and his eyes full of scorn.

“Trust me, I know.” she glared back and continued on, a hollow pain echoing in her stomach...no not hers, but Dekes. “Next time you're hungry, just tell me.” She told him before taking a different route home.

Arya could hear the person she sought out before she saw him, “ _Hot pies!_ ” his cry rose above a dozen others in the market, “ _Hot pies! Get your hot pies here!_ ” She grinned, at the very least her trip to the past had made his life simpler.

“How much are they today?” she asked, stopping by his cart. 

“Madi.” The fat boy smiled but eyed Deke cautiously. Hot Pie had never felt comfortable around animals, not even the ones he and his mother cooked into their pies. “Five coppers.” 

Arya frowned, “Five coppers? That's near twice as much as they were last I saw you.” 

His brown eyes were full of sympathy, “Nothing I can do, mother makes the prices, not me. Everything's more expensive with autumn taking it's toll, not to mention the Fat King's hoarding all the food for himself.” 

_One to talk._ She thought, eyeing the pump boy up and down before noticing a shimmer of golden armor at the side of the market square. “Watch what you say.” she muttered, “and I'll take two.” 

Hot Pie's eye's followed hers and he nodded seriously, “You've got a sixth sense for when those gold hatted guys are roaming about.” he said as he wrapped up two pies, and she pulled her coin pouch from under her cloak.

“Look with your eyes” she teased and he rolled his instead.

“How's the Bull?” 

“As stubborn as he ever is...ugh, make it three pies.” 

Hot Pie grinned, “He'd starve faster than your wolf if you forgot to feed him.” 

Arya chuckled as she handed him the coin, “He better learn.” she took the pies and cleared her throat, “Listen, I'm going on a bit of a trip so you won't be seeing me for a while.” 

The baker boy's eyes grew wide, “What? Where are you going? Have you told Gendry? He won't be happy, you were gone almost a year last time.” 

“East, no, and no. but he'll understand” she gave him a small smile despite the sour taste of the lie. “Make sure he remembers to eat for me?” 

Hot Pie nodded, “Will do.” 

“Goodbye Hot Pie.” 

“Goodbye Madi.”

 

Deke ran into the shop before Arya had the chance to stop him, and the cursing of Tobho Mott had her cursing under her own breath. “How many times do I have to say it? This is a forge! Not a  _bloody kennel!_ ” 

Arya pushed herself through the door, a forced smile on her face. “Tobho” she greeted and lifted her arm, “I brought pies...”

“ _Pies._ ” he repeated, “Your bloody wolf just left a trail of mud everywhere!”

Her eyes followed Tobho's brown ones, and indeed Deke had left a trail of paw prints all along the floor, yet there he sat beside Gendry with his tongue lolling out, oblivious or apathetic towards the mess he'd caused. “I'm sorry, I really am.” she opened her bag and offered up a pie, “Here.”

Tobho shook his bald head while taking the pie, “You're cleaning this up, you or Gendry, matters not to me as long as it's fixed.” 

Arya nodded, “Of course.” she watched him leave and sighed once he went into the back, “Why do you insist on working for such an ass?”

Gendry smiled under a mop of black hair, his blue eyes glowing with humor. “Because he's the best ass in this city at forging steel.” 

Arya grunted in response, “Well you get to clean up Deke's mess.” she informed him.

“What? And why would I, he's your wolf, _remember?_ ” Gendry raised his eyebrows, his tone implying he was the first to inform her of her ownership of Deke.

“Because...” she put the bag down, “I brought you pie. And also, I don't work for that ass, you do.” 

Gendry inspected the contents of the pie before him, “Ah, fine.” He was covered in a sheen of sweat, dark hair sticking to his head, and shirtless with skin tones darker than hers. Even if the two of them spent the same amount of time in the sun, he'd always come out darker, and her with a sunburn. “Is something the matter?” 

Arya shrugged, pulled out a pie and laid if before Deke.  _Should've gotten four._ “Nothing, just figured you'd work the whole day without eating...someone had to feed you.” she averted her eyes from his and watched Deke devour his meat pie in moments. 

“You sure? That's not exactly your nothing's the matter face.” Gendry's eyes bored into hers, seeing right past her lie. Arya was exceptional at telling lies, her name only one of many examples, but Gendry had a talent for catching her in them. She supposed anyone could become good at reading a person if they lived together a couple years.

“Will you be working late?” 

“I don't think so, seriously though what's wrong?” Arya hesitated in answering. Hot Pie was right about Gendry's feelings towards her leaving. It was different last time she'd left King's Landing, she'd known him for less than two years, and they never shared the same roof then, it was never really his business where she went or what she did. But when she'd come back, twelve years old with nowhere to stay, it was him who offered her a bed. Now two years later he knew Madi better than anyone in the city, and even if Madi was only a misshaped shadow of who she really was, he was the person who that shadow best.

Arya swallowed her regret and just blurted the truth, “I'm leaving.” 

“What do you mean you're _leaving?_ ” his eyes completely left his pie. “Do you mean you're...moving out?”

“No...sort of, I'm going East for a while-”

“Well how longs a while?” one of his arms flew up in frustration. 

Arya reached out and gently put his arm back down, “Listen, we can talk about it tonight, alright?”

“Madi-.” 

“I'm coming back you know, it's _not_ forever-” he tried to cut her off but she continued, “And don't give me any of that _it's dangerous out there_ crap, I can take care of myself.” 

If he wanted to beg her to stay, his pride surely would have gotten in the way. And even if it didn't, he knew how stubborn she was, that once she made up her mind there was little chance in changing it. Which was why he stood there, the blues of his eyes shades darker with anger and what she thought might be fear. “When?” he asked, voice cold. 

“We'll talk about it later.” she insisted, “Deke, come on.” she turned to leave, “I'll see you tonight.”

“ _Madi._ ” The iron in his voice stopped her once she reached the door, she turned to face him. “When?”

A moment or a year passed before she confessed. “In the morning.” They stood there, the store between them, for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he threw his forging helm down and stormed to the back of the store, leaving her and Deke at the entrance, the clamor of the city calling from behind them.  _You're alive and well, not starving in the woods or caught up in a war for the Riverlands. You're better off now than you were before. Better pissed off at me than dead in an unmarked grave._

Truth be told, Arya had no idea whether Gendry was dead or alive in the time she was from, but she knew of the horrors he faced then, the ones they had faced together. The Gendry in this time never lived through war, never bore the scars or faced the nightmares he did before. He was a shade softer now, and a little less angry at the world, he even despised the High Born slightly less. But to her discontent, he was still as bull-headed as he ever was. 

 

As darkness fell over the cobblestones of Kingslanding Arya was making her way back to Woodies, preparing herself for more goodbyes and overthinking what results her actions might cause. As she walked into the crowded brothel with offbeat music and drunken voices bounding off the walls, her mind was all quiet apart from a single voice. Arya would never know what Madysen sounded like, or what had become of her in the end, but her words had a way of echoing through her mind before any relevant decision. 

“ _My father always told me to consider my choices carefully, the simple and profound, that life was a set of choices and each and every one mattered. I always trusted him, with everything, but I never should have trusted him with my truth. Some burdens we must carry ourselves, lest we let them burn the world down around us.”_

“Madi” She turned her head and gave Bre a smile, the women was dressed in one of her finer garments, red silk that shimmered as she moved. The fabric was flayed in a few places, but other than that the dress was stunning. 

“Bre, business seems promising tonight.” She noted, the room was nearly full and the few serving girls were rushing to fill men's cups.

“Yes, the gods cried all their tears yesterday and left the sun smiling down today.” The women grinned and took the girl's hand as they walked. “There are few nights like this in left Madi, nights with fresh crisp air. I know you're too young to have seen a true winter, but when the real cold comes the air's tasteless, bland. It's terrible, though men still come and seek the warmth we offer.” she grinned knowingly.

Arya had to disagree, real winter air was pure and clean, whereas in this city with the heat you could smell something foul from around every corner. “If you say so, I've hardly seen anything beyond the city walls.” 

“You could change that if you wish, you're smart and clever. You could make your way anywhere you desired.” 

“About that...” Arya took a breath, “I'm leaving, to see the free cities.” 

Bre stopped, brown eyes wide with surprise. “You're leaving Kingslanding?” Arya nodded, “The free cities...” the women shook her head, “I know men say girls of four and ten and grown, but it's lies, the world's a dangerous place for you, for even a boy your age.” 

Arya laughed “Should we throw everything you just said before out the window?”

“I was being kind! You're the most resourceful girl in this part of the city, no doubt, but who would you stay with? How would you find coin there to eat? You do know they speak a dozen different languages over there!” 

“I'm a fast learner, I'll come back in a year with another few tongues under my belt.” she teased.

Bre sighed, “I suppose there's no use in telling you how stupid you're being. When are you leaving?” 

“In the morning.” 

The older women's head tilted and her expression mirrored that of her once unimpressed mother. Lady Catelyn would spend an hour on Arya's hair some mornings, and when merely a few hours later she'd return with leaves and sticks caught up in her braids, her mother would give her a single look that spoke a dozen rebukes. “Did I mention rash and reckless?” 

“I've been called worse just working with you.” Arya shot back. 

“Well I guess you'll have to explain to your new admirer why you're leaving.” she waved a hand to the table they'd stopped at. Arya turned and fought back a frown, there sat Tyrion Lannister, nursing a drink of wine with a Cyvasse board in front of him. 

“Leaving?” he piped in, “Where are we going?” 

Bre leaned in to whisper in her ear, “His rings are worth more than this building.” she stepped back with a look and walked off, leaving her alone with the Lannister. His mismatched eyes looked up at her expectantly and she resisted the urge to roll hers, instead, she sat down across from him. 

“Enjoyed losing your coin so much you came back?” Arya had no interest in whatever his intentions with her were, she'd avoided anything connecting her to royalties so far and she planned to keep it that way for a while yet. 

He shrugged, “I like a challenge.” He began setting up the broad, placing the pieces in position. “So where are you going?” 

“Essos.”

His eyebrows rose, “May I ask why?” he said pouring her a glass of wine from his pitcher. 

“After you tell me why you care.” 

In all honesty, he seemed offended, “You know last night you were much more interested in conversation, though I suppose that was just for my money wasn't it?” He shook his head. “Figures...you know what, enjoy the rest of the wine.” He went to leave.

“ _Wait._ I'm sorry.” He faced her once more, not looking very convinced. “But you accuse me of only speaking to you for money, tell me, were you interested in more than my body?” 

“To be fair, I did meet you in a brothel. But I'm not the monster half this city thinks I am, I didn't come back here to convince you to sleep with me.” 

“Then why come back at all?” 

“I enjoyed the game.” She considered him a moment, he was telling the truth. “Few things in this world bring me joy Madelyn, and I seek out the things that do.” 

Arya gave in, reaching over and taking a drink of her wine. “Fine.” she began placing the black pieces in position from her end, “Since I'm leaving tomorrow anyway, I'll indulge you one last game.  _My Lord._ ”

Tyrion smiled, though he was far from comely, there was something about a true smile that could bring out the beauty in anyone. “It doesn't have to be just one game.” 

“You're not the only one who wants an explanation for why I'm leaving, and that's a conversation I can't avoid.” she sighed, “No matter how much I might want to.” 

“People don't just up and leave without reason.” he ventured.

“No, they don't.” she agreed, trying to ignore his impatient curiosity, “You start.” 

He nodded, moving one of his soldiers forward, “So what is the reason?” 

She pondered her strategy for the game before answering, “Have you heard about the dragons hatching in the East?” 

His eyes sparked with interest, “I've heard the rumors, I've also heard they're false.” 

Arya let herself smile, mischief in her voice. “Oh I highly doubt that.” she glanced up from their game to continue, “Do you believe in magic?” she teased, one of her favorite questions over the years. 

“I believe in the things I can see, things that I know are real...but I've always dreamed of seeing dragons.”

“Well they were real, everyone knows that, Harrenhal, the skulls under the Red Keep, there's evidence littered everywhere. Who's to say they can't be born again?” 

“The maester's for one.” He countered after a drink of wine and she scoffed. “So you're traveling to a strange country to steal a dragon?” 

Her eyes darted up, “Steal? No...” she cleared her throat, “Just want to see one is all.” Tyrion hummed before making his next move. “Don't worry, I'll come back and let you know how it goes...though if they are real, I doubt they'll stay in Essos forever.” 

“More of your perceptiveness, I presume.”

“Do you think I'm wrong?” 

“No, might be this Daenerys will try and take Westeros one day, but...” he glanced down, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “That's only if she gets the chance.” _He knows about the assassin._

“I think she will.” 

He glanced up, a question in his eyes. “Do you want her to?” 

Arya pondered over the board, “If I said yes, would you have me arrested for treason?”

“So you do?” 

“If you're asking me about politics, I've always hated them...and I don't care much for who's ass sits on the Iron Throne, but as for Daenerys...” she paused as she watched him move his Queen. “I think there's a reason she's finding power, a reason those dragons were born.”

“Ah” he smiled as if learning a secret, “so fates your game? What's meant to be will be.” 

“You're way off your mark Lannister, nothing's _meant_ to be.” 

“On the contrary, I think you're wrong. Some things are inevitable, there is no way around them. From Westeros to Essos stands the Sea, there's no way around it. Somethings in life must be faced, you just have to sail through it no matter how rough the waters.” 

“Not if I had a dragon.” she grinned, “Then I could fly over the Narrow Sea, avoid the water altogether.”

“Aye, I suppose you could, _if_ you had one.” he grinned back. The bustle of the room filled her ears as she planned her next strike, one that would set her up for a win. “So you're going to Essos to find a Dragon?” Tyrion concluded.

“I do want to see a Dragon.” she agreed, “but there are lots of other things to be sought, The Titan of Braavos is one of the largest statues, there's the Long bridge of Volantis; the greatest bridge ever built, the great pyramids in Mereen and Ghis...and so on and so on.”

Tyrion nodded as he stared at the game pieces, “I did always want to see The Wall.” 

“Why don't you?” 

“Never got around to it I suppose.”

Arya shook her head, making a tisk tisk sounds with her mouth. “Half the people in this city would have traveled all over the world with the kind of money you have.” she scolded. 

“Half the people in this city don't have the type of father I do.” She tilted her head thinking back on the old world and her brief encounter with the man, he'd just been the Lord who'd never paid the servants any mind. Though one thing that would be hard to forget was the news of his death, and the hands he'd died by. “What is it?”

She looked up, blinking out of her lost thoughts. “Nothing. It would seem most people in this city have terrible or absent fathers.” 

“And yours? Was he terrible or absent?” Tyrion asked, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Neither” she countered, a little too harshly. 

“My apologies, a sore subject it would seem...” Arya ignored the sympathy written around the lines of his mouth. 

“My father was never terrible...” she spoke without thinking, it'd been a long time since she'd told anyone about her family. “He was understanding and had more honor than any man in this city has in his pinky finger. And he'd never leave his children, he'd give his life to protect them if it came down to it.” 

Tyrion nodded slowly, “Well I'm sorry then.” 

“For what?” she frowned, confused. 

“You said he never left...and the way you spoke of him made it sound as if he were gone...” 

“Oh.” _I made it sound like he was dead._ Arya sighed inwardly, _I'm the one who's “dead”._ “No he's alive and well, I hope well at least.” 

It was the little Lord's turn to look confused as he frowned down at his wine, “Your story doesn't make much sense if your father was- _is_ such a great man, then why aren't you with him?” 

Arya pondered over her answer a moment, the truth not an option as per usual. “I was the one who left...you could say I didn't quite  _fit_ in the family I was born into. I miss them... but I know it's for the best.” 

Tyrion's face was lit with understanding, “You could say the same about me, to say I don't fit would be an understatement of the year Madelyn. Even if my father didn't hate me for being a dwarf, he'd hate me for killing my mother.” His words caught her off guard and he could tell. “It would seem we're getting too personal for a game of Cyvasse, but since you're leaving on the morrow, what of it? My mother died birthing me, a crime I'll never live down.” 

“I'm sorry...” and she was, “It's stupid that anyone would blame you for that.” she shook her head, “I've no doubt Cersei would hold it over you too.” 

“And what would you know of Cersei?”

“I don't.” She said quickly, wishing she could hit herself over the head. “I've seen her, once or twice...she looks...rude.” Arya faked a weak shrug.

Tyrion snorted, not looking very convinced. “Most women just think she's beautiful.”

Arya spoke coolly. “I'm not most people, Tyrion.”

In the end, Tyrion bested her in the game and managed to get her to play another. She mostly played because she was a sore loser, and wanted to win the next one, and she almost did before it got cut short.

“Madi.” There stood Gendry beside their table, blue eyes as serious as his voice. His stance was stiff, and he surveyed the room briefly. Arya knew he had little interest in brothels and was never very fond of where she spent most her time. 

“Gendry, you're off work already?” 

He nodded, “I wanted us to talk...” he glanced at Tyrion, “If you can spare the time.” 

Arya cleared her throat, pushing down the dread of their approaching goodbye. “Yes I do.” she stood but glanced back at the Lannister and paused. Gendry was already moving toward the door, head down so no one would attempt to approach him. 

Tyrion hummed with a sly grin, “I can see why you don't bother working here.” he nodded towards Gendry's back.

“Wha-” she stopped, stunned. “That's not, we're not...”

He put a hand up to stop her from continuing, “I was teasing you, but now I think I might have been right.” he chuckled lightly. 

Arya shook her head, annoyed. She had no time to even ponder that kind of life, those were the dreams her older sister had, dreams for ladies and children. “I'll leave the complicated relationships to the lords and ladies, I've enough to worry about.” She muttered.

She re-tied her cloak around her neck as he answered, “Everyone is worried about something Madi, you have to make time for the things that matter most.”

“Is that your parting advice?” she smirked. 

“I suppose it is, but also...do be careful around those dragons, and don't get burned.” 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and thanks for all the Kudos and Comments!


	7. Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for clicking on this chapter kindstranger (☞ﾟ∀ﾟ)☞ I just wanted to let anyone who was wondering know there will be a chapter that explains more of what is happening with the other Starks, it'll just be awhile. (¬‿¬) but for good reason!

They were back in the familiar surroundings of the home they'd shared for nearly two years, the basement apartment far from the Red Keep. Arya had intended it to be that way when she and Gendry had decided to share rent, she wanted to be as far from the King and the royal family as possible. Their walk back from Woodies had been uncharacteristically quiet, if she wasn't really leaving tomorrow she'd tease him.  _You said you wanted to talk but haven't said a word._ Instead she walked in as much silence as him, falling a step behind hoping the tension would slip away into the night. It hadn't. 

He stopped on the other side of the room and she didn't follow, keeping the small oak table between them. Deke sat in the corner watching them as silently as Ghost might have. “I won't be gone forever, just a few months.”

“It'll be more than just three months.” he muttered.

“I told you before I wanted to travel.” 

“Yes in the future, I didn't know you were just going to wake up one day, and up and leave the next.” She resisted the urge to chew her lip, how could she explain it? “You were gone nearly a year last time, you never even told me where you went.”

“We hardly knew each other then and I told you I went North.”

“North where?” Arya didn't answer him, keeping her secrets in her heart as she had for what felt like decades. “Why now? Why are you leaving tomorrow?” 

“I...saw an opportunity and I took it.”

“What, is Tyrion Lannister paying for your sudden vacation.” his blue eyes glowed with anger. “You think he wants anything more than to bed you?” 

“ _No._ He had nothing to do with it.” her own rage was boiling under her skin now, “is it so hard to believe someone might actually just enjoy my company?”

“It's a _brothel_ Madi.”

“And it wasn't like that.” Arya forced herself to calm down, “Will you take care of Deke?” 

“Deke? You want me to take care of your wolf while you're on your adventure?”

Arya seethed at the word adventure, her life had been anything but an _adventure_. She'd give anything to go home, to leave the scheming to the desperate highborns with their game of thrones. But Arya had this burden forced upon her, every move holding the fate of the world in her hands, one wrong play and Westeros would fall back into nothing. 

“You're the only one here he listens to.”

“He hardly listens to me, if you want to leave then take him with you.” Gendry turned to his room and slammed the door behind him. 

He might hate her now, but she knew he loved Deke. She knew that if she left him here Gendry would take care of him, and Deke would take care of Gendry. Arya went to her own small room, threw some clothes, Madyson's Jorunal, and an old dagger into a small bag. She might not be welcome here when she came back, but this was for the best. There would be no use staying here and playing house with Gendry when the fate of the world was at stake, when he didn't even know who she really was. Whatever she desired it wasn't worth it. There were things to be done in the east, seeds that needed planting before Westeros fell apart. And it would, with or without her pulling the strings. 

 

 

Crossing the Narrow Sea for the first time in this life was colder than in the last, though not as cold as even the summers in Winterfell. Arya stepped off the ship and onto the crooked cobble stones of the harbor, her faded black cloak snapping in the wind as she walked. She could taste salt and seaweed, the fish and clams, even a hint of cat piss. The guardian of the city stood in the distance behind her, bellowing out at the arrival of more ships that were only specs in her view.

The Titian of Braavos was as she remembered it, just as Ragman's Harbor was. The little houses and apartments stood at different heights, some leaning on each other for support like good friends. Traders and merchants walked and ran along the docks, shouting things in half a dozen tongues. Little pickpockets scurried around, some trying and failing at nonchalance, as whores attempted the opposite; waving and calling for their targets attention. 

Arya roamed among them, ignoring the offers of food or pretty jewelry, nor paying attention to the odd sailor's whistling advances. She wasn't going to be here long, just a day while she waited to catch another ride further south, closer to where the Dragon Queen was. As she made her way down some vaguely familiar streets she pondered the things she should buy, a new knife might be, some snacks for her next trip, a less worn cloak.

Her face was passive as she stopped, but her heart sunk just a little at the sight in front of her. Her feet had carried her where they never had...yet had a hundred times. Two giant doors glared down on her, one ebony black, the other weirwood white. The moon face in the center challenged her and she resisted the urge to bite her lip, but despite the storm in her stomach, she walked up the stone steps, counting as she passed each one out of habit. Once more she hesitated when she reached the door, wondering if she should just turn and leave as any sane person would.  _ Any sane person would never have come here in the first place, any sane person wouldn't have traveled to the past. _

The ebony door was silent as she pushed it open, not a single creek. Arya stepped in slowly, the great room was dim with the only light reflecting from candles spread along the windowless space. Two commoners could be seen from where she was, one old lady kneeling and weeping under the statue of the Moon-Pale Maiden. The other was an even older practically ancient man, stumbling between the Lion of Night and The Stranger. She ignored the struggling man and crying women, stopping a moment by the ten-foot-long pool that sat in the center, watching the still dark liquid. 

A soft scraping sound bounced off the walls and she closed her eyes, imagining the movements of the Kindly Man's slippers hardly touching the stone. If she could hear him though, it was only because he allowed her to. Yet she ignored that too, opening her eyes she wandered to the southeast corner where the Old God's weirwood face stood among the other thirty faces. The girl kneeled down, her cloak a dark pool surrounding her as she closed her eyes again, and breathed deep. 

Her father's smile filled her mind, Jon Snow's fingers mussed her hair, and her mother brushed it. Sansa giggled at dinner and Bran grinned knowingly as he always did. Rickon made a blubbering noise that wasn't quite a word and Robb laughed with glowing sapphire eyes. Somewhere Nymeria howled and Deke stared up at her, grey eyes waiting to see where she'd take him. Gendry smirked at her in the confines of their tiny apartment and the smell of the Godswood washed over her. All the while Arya was floating in a place of serenity. 

“Valar Morghulis.” A soft but aged voice cut through her peace. 

Arya didn't flinch or startle but calmly glanced up at the Kindly Man's face. “Valar Dohaeris” she replied. 

“And how may a man serve a girl?” he asked. 

“He doesn't.” She told him, wondering if he always preferred this old innocent-seeming face. “I've only come to visit the Gods.” 

“There are no Gods here girl, only one.” 

A corner of her mouth lifted slightly, “Just so.” 

The Kindly Man held her stare a moment, then nodded. “A man will leave you to your prayers.” 

“Thank you.” Arya watched as he shuffled away on silent feet, he stopped before reaching one of the dark corners and she waited to see what he would do. A few breaths passed and a ray of light cut through the stone floor as the giant weirwood door was opened.

Two men walked in, the older had a hard face, the kind of look he wore told her he thought he belonged in any room he entered. The younger man, probably in his late teens, was more tentative as he entered the hall, and in her opinion had more sense than his companion already. But as she considered their reactions to the Many-Faced God's temple, she considered hers. She'd been an eleven-year-old girl, running up the steps two a time just so no one would think she'd been afraid, she'd been stupid and concerned too much with what others thought. 

Arya blinked away her thoughts and turned back to the candles resting at her knees, she contemplated her chances of getting out of here with one of them under her cloak. If it were anywhere else in the world she'd bet on herself, but here she had no doubt there were eyes on her from some dark crevice she'd never guess to check. As much as she wished to lose herself in the childhood memories, she knew she didn't belong here, not in this life. She rose, taking one last deep breath of Winterfell and everything she was fighting for and made her way to the door. 

The Kindly man had walked her way as well, meeting the two strangers near the front door. “How may a man severe you?” he asked the older, he had ginger hair dipped in grey at the edges.

The man didn't answer though, instead, his eyes met hers and he froze, mouth falling open slightly. “Who are you?” he blurted.

She stopped, confused. “What?” 

“Who are you?” he repeated as if he had the right to know anything about her.

“ _Jon._ ” His younger companion gave him a hard questioning stare, the young man had deep blue hair and dark eyes. The name gave her pause and she wondered where her half-brother was in this very moment, she saw mounds of snow and the Wall.

Jon looked to his friend and back to her, “Sorry I just...you look like someone I knew once.” 

Arya nodded a little awkwardly, “Well, I doubt I'm her.”

“No...no you couldn't be.”

The Kindly Man gave her a look, “What did you say your name was?” 

“I didn't. You have a beautiful temple but if you'll excuse me.” Arya pushed on, catching eyes with the boy whose name she never got. His dark irises seemed inexplicably innocent and she wondered what it was he and his friend were here for, an offer? A request? Who might they want killed? But Arya left the temple and her questions with the life she'd never allow herself to fall back into. 

When Arya slipped out the tall doors for the last time, in any life, the city of Braavos sat before her in all the beautiful simplicity she remembered it holding. A quick trip back to Ragman's Harbor told her what ship she'd need to take South, there were a few to pick from but Arya and her sights on the one leaving the soonest. She found her way to the market, stands littered all over and people crowding around like ants on little hills. Arya brushed by them, speaking Braavosie to a few and finding the odd word escaping her memory, it'd been so long since she spoken the tongue but luckily her accent didn't fail her.

She bought a new cloak from a friendly old man, a dark crimson red that wasn't so tattered as the black one she wore before. She purchased a new dagger with a black stone hilt and freshly forged steel, it fit well on the brown leather belt around her waist. She grabbed some sunflower seeds as a snack and hid them in her pocket, and just when she thought she was done a women dressed in purple robes nearly pulled her off her feet and into her booth.

“My apologies!” the older women had dark velvet hair cut to her shoulders, her blue eyes glowing from the contrast. “Oh, what soft hair you have.” the wrinkled fingers brushed through Arya's head and she took a step back, this vendor was as forward as a whore.

“Thank you.” she thought to excuse herself but the women continued.

“You serve the Red Priests?” she asked, eyeing her in her new cloak. Arya looked at the booth the women owed, a young girl was washing out another man's hair in the back, the black dye watering down his neck.

“That waters too cold girl!” he growled.

“Yes.” Arya looked to the older women again, a new persona shifting under her eyes and a small grin lifting her mouth. “What color dyes do you have?”

 

 

By night there were few people wandering around. A stone mermaid rose up from the center of a fountain, it's hands held out like a beggar. But there were no coins in her palms, only the endless current of water shooting from her hands and back into the watery abyss. The water surrounding the statue led down under the city, connected to all the canals that weaved through Braavos. The space around it was clear, an army of houses and cobblestone paths guarding the sea women and connecting her to the cities people. Arya's plan to spend the night at an Inn had been a simple one, she'd already figured out which ship she would take south, and come the morning she'd convince the captain to make room for her. If only she hadn't taken the long way just to see the stupid fountain again, she would be safe and warm in her Inn already.

“Lift your sword you coward!” she blinked to attention at the voice, pulling her gaze to the opposite side of the nearly empty plaza.

“Listen I'm not trying to fight you!” Arya walked around the mermaid, glancing down one of the alleyways she noted two shadows in the night, one with a sword raised and the other with his hands. The Bravo didn't care for the clueless tourist and lunged, the young man sidestepped quickly, keeping his entrails safe inside his stomach for the moment. Despite his initial intent he drew his long sword in defense and met the Bravo lunge for lunge.

“You're bloody mad.” the younger man growled in High Valyrian, but his accent seemed almost Westerosi. The two stumbled their way closer to the mermaid, steel signing into the night and Arya watching with a small sigh. The Bravos always reminded her of peacocks, showing off their giant feathers with a sword in their hand. It was fitting considering the goofy vibrant baby blue shirt the man wore, paired with the velvet pants. The young man on defense noticed her for the first time, “Stay back!” he warned.

He was too busy keeping the Bravo's sword out of his heart to see her grin of amusement. But it faded when he stumbled, barely blocking the blow to his neck. The Bravo's next swing knocked his sword from his hand, the weapon clattering on the stones. As slightly interesting as the show had been, she couldn't stand by and watch the clueless guy get killed. Arya stepped behind the Bravo, her new dagger resting against his throat.

“Drop it.” She spoke in Braavosi to be sure he'd understand. Her eyes finally saw the young man kneeling by the fountain, familiar dark eyes and long hair. It was the boy from the temple. _Huh._

“Mind your businesses _bitch_.” In truth, she hadn't been expecting any reaction other than surrender after holding the blade to his neck, but the man-no, boy, shoved her back and a sharp elbow slammed into her nose. 

Her hand reached to her face, white fiery pain killing her smugness from before. “Son of a-” she hardly dodged the Bravo's swing of attack. Her adrenaline spiked, Arya kicked his leg out from under him after he missed her, and _ his _ sword slipped from his hands this time. The stranger with the dark eyes was on his feet now, steel in his hand once more and pointed at the defeated and grounded Braavosi. 

“Wait, wait, please.” the young boy held up his shaking hands.

“Stupid.” Arya picked up the boy's sword, with her other hand placed under her bleeding nose. “Bloody.”

“Wait!” the boy's brown eyes grew with panic as her arm swung back.

“Bravos,” she muttered as she tossed his sword into the endless water. 

The little Bravo deflated with a whine at the sound of the splash, even though he was a worthy opponent, Arya didn't think him any older than her (well her physical age at least.) The young man beside her stood taller than her with smooth skin not yet touched by age. The dark-eyed stranger lifted the blade menacingly to the young Bravo's neck.

“You're not going to _kill_ him.” 

“Why not? He tried to kill me!” 

“You were the one open to a dual!” 

He gaped at her “I wasn't open to anything, I told him-” The Young Bravo scrambled to his feet and shot down the nearest ally in the blink of an eye, dark eyes stepped forward a moment ready for the chase before stopping short. “Great.” 

Arya rolled her eyes, “Oh no, now you'll never get your revenge.” 

He glared at her before frowning, “You're the girl from earlier, the temple.” 

“I am.” she agreed glancing at her own blood on her hands.

He squinted at her, his sword arm falling limp at his side. “Why'd you dye your hair red?” 

“Why is yours blue?” 

“Well, my mother was from-”

She put a hand up to stop him, the pain in her face was leaving her with a short temper. “I'm sure she was great, but I don't care.” she turned away from him, head tilted backward with her hand to her nostrils, that were still bleeding. Inhaling sharply she tasted iron, then spat the blood on the ground, groaning mostly from her annoyance at the whole situation rather than the pain. 

“You're bleeding.” 

“Thanks, I hadn't noticed.” 

“Not your nose.” his stance reflected all the vexation she felt. “Your arm.” 

Arya wiped once more at her nose before plucking the damp fabric of her arm, sure enough, she was bleeding and her shirt was ripped. “Oh.” she turned further, catching her new cloak in her hand and finding a piece with an ugly tear. “I just bought this.” she muttered, disappointed. 

“Most people would be more concerned about the blood, _Your Grace._ ” She shot him a glare but ignored his terrible jape, focusing more on the cut now. When she tapped the skin underneath, it was hot and swollen, and he'd been right, quite bloody. As if seeing was believing the cut stung once discovered, Arya clasped a hand around it. “Here.” Dark eyes sheathed his sword and pulled up the end of his navvy cloak, “Pass me your dagger.” 

Arya pulled out the blade once more and handed it over, and in a few moments, he had a long piece of blue cloth in his hands. He seemed ready to pass it over before realizing she wouldn't be able to tie it one handed. “May I?” with reluctance she nodded.

“Yeah.” Arya pushed aside her dark red cloak and offered up her arm to the stranger.

“You said your name was...?” he handed her back her dagger. 

“Madelyn, but I prefer Madi.” 

She tensed as he tightened the cloth around her arm. “Sorry.” 

“And who exactly am I forgiving?” 

For the first time since meeting him, there was a ghost of a smile on his lips, “Griff, or Young Griff, but if we go by what we prefer...you can call me Egg.” 

“Egg?” she smiled despite herself, “Really?” 

He grinned “Yes.” 

“Well, Egg you're an idiot.” 

His smile faded once more and stepped back. “Excuse me?” 

“Any fool knows you can't just go walking around Braavos at night with a sword on your hip.” 

“Any fool knows not to walk around unarmed.” 

Arya lifted her dagger, “Not unarmed, nor am I open to a dual.” 

“I thought the Bravos only dueled at the Moon Pool?”

“The best ones dual there, the rest just wander around looking for easy targets.” she eyed him up and down, his dark blue hair was straight reaching to his shoulders, his shirt was white and his breeches brown. His cloak matched his hair like hers, though blue instead of red, and his boots were leather.

“I'm _not_ an easy target.” his dark eyes flashed with fire. 

“That boy didn't seem to think so.” 

“That _boy_ is probably older than you.” 

“He was not, and _I_ wouldn't have let him un-arm me.” 

He scoffed, “you think you could beat him when I couldn't?”

“What makes you think I can't?”

“You're a priestess aren't you?” 

That gave Arya pause and she glanced back at her red cloak and remembered her red hair, she did look very much like the Red Priestess she was pretending to be. “Yes.” she put her dagger away and walked past him. “Try not to get killed on the way back from wherever you came from.” 

“You're just going to leave, what about your arm?” 

“I'll take care of it.” she'd no doubt she'd need stitches now. Arya hesitated and turned once more to take him in, standing beside the mermaid and her begging hands. He looked very much like a Knight from the songs with his sword in hand, just lacking the armor. He'd the face she had no doubt her sister would swoon over if he had been of royal birth. “Be careful Egg.” she grinned “The night is dark and full of terrors.” 

 

 

 

 


End file.
